A Touch of Fire
by TheSirensSong218
Summary: Harry and Hermione become magically bound together in an epic love fit to be legendary. Angsty love story completely disregarding many aspects in the sixth book and all of the seventh. HP/HG starts off RW/HG
1. Author's Note

Hello Everyone,

It's been literally years since I was on here and I'm afraid I was locked out of my account by a combination of forgetting my password and having Yahoo reclaim the e-mail I'd been using for this site. So this story, which was once called "Flames of the Phoenix" can actually still be found in its original, unedited format under the works of TheSirensSong88. Check it out if you like. I've tweaked it a bit, but it's mostly the same. Enjoy!


	2. A Way of Life

Foreword

Our story starts as June draws to an end. Harry Potter had once again thwarted Voldemort. Once again, Fawkes had been present. However, unlike each time before, Hermione had remained with Harry through the entire battle. She stayed by his side when he had ordered her to go, stubbornly refusing to listen to reason. He had begged her to turn back, to take Ron's prone form with her, but she stood firm, never wavering. Voldemort had laughed. During the actual battle Harry had had to push her aside when Voldemort sent an unknown curse her way. In doing so, he took a hit himself. It had nearly proved fatal. But then hubris gave our heroes the break they needed.

Voldemort had dismissed Hermione from his thoughts. She was nothing. She was unworthy. She was forgotten and in so doing, he sealed his fate. For once in her life she did not think, but simply acted. Throwing herself at him when he would have killed Harry, she caused him to miss and fall to the ground. She could hear as multiple bones broke within his fragile and twisted frame, but before she could move he hit her with a spell so painful all she could do was scream... and scream and scream.

Harry had heard her and was gripped with a terror so real, it flooded his body with enough adrenaline that he didn't even feel the pain as he stood and took aim. Somehow the world had slowed. He could hear it, feel it, as even his own heartbeat followed suit. He could see Voldemort. The foul creature hadn't even stood yet, but his wand was trained on Hermione. That was his mistake: wanting to punish her. Harry raised his own wand and allowed the sound of Hermione's screams to fill him with an overpowering protectiveness and hatred toward whomever was hurting her. In that moment he opened himself to all the hurt, the anger, the fear, and the hatred this one man had caused him. Then he released it. There was no spell, no incantation or charm. He simply felt the magic go, and go it did.

It rang out into the night as a brilliant light issued forth from his wand. When asked later, he would be completely unable to explain the color. It simply was. He watched, the world speeding back up again, sound filling ears he hadn't realized had gone deaf, as the light engulfed his mortal enemy, as it was drawn into every part of his being. But it didn't work the way Avanda Kadavra worked nor any other spell Harry knew.

Voldemort screamed, a high pitch, gruesome, horrifying sound. He jerked and twitched and collapsed to the ground. The light didn't fade. Everyone around them broke out into mass hysteria, fleeing and leaving them behind. Harry rushed to Hermione's side, desperate to get her away from him. Just as he bent to lift her, Fawkes appeared beside him. He didn't know what the phoenix was doing as he spread his wings, enveloping the two in a forest of gold and red feathers. Then he heard the world around him veritably explode, the ground shaking beneath him. Despite the protection of the wings sheltering them, Harry shielded Hermione as best he could. He could feel a light pass through them, followed seconds later by heat too intense to comprehend. Fawkes was unharmed, his feathers gently shifting as if in a light breeze, his eyes glowing a brilliant gold, and his song filling the air. That was the last thing Harry saw before blacking out completely.

* * *

Chapter 1

A Way of Life

Three and a half months later...

Harry sat by the fire, staring into the dancing flames without truly seeing them. Why couldn't he get her out of his head? Lately, even when he was lost in thought, working on a difficult bit of magic, or playing Quidditch, she was there, always there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, just waiting until she could come to the forefront again.

He'd started to notice things. He wasn't even sure when it had begun, but he noticed everything now. There was the slightest shadow of a dimple in her left cheek that only showed when she was trying to hide a smile, which usually resulted in a slight half-smile. He found it adorable. When she laughed, it was a joyful, mirthful sound that never rang false. When she got confused or was thinking hard, she'd get a little crease between her eyebrows. Her creamy skin was never marred by blemishes, but she had a smattering of pale freckles across the bridge of her nose and high on her cheeks; they were so pale you couldn't see them unless she blushed or you were very close. When she was worried she'd bite her lower lip and if she was worried _about you_ her heart shone in her eyes.

He'd looked directly into those eyes countless times and had been completely unaffected. Now they took his breath away– without fail. He noticed that they actually changed color based on what she was feeling. When she was angry or impassioned, they were a deep, rich, chocolate brown, but when she was happy, when she laughed, they shone brightly, like amber. Sometimes when she was intrigued or felt playful, they fairly danced with an inner light that shone tawny.

He'd even begun to notice her scent. He could never quite place his finger on what it was. There were simple fragrances that mingled with it, like vanilla or some type of flower, but there was also something unidentifiable and exquisite that was uniquely her. He'd spend hours trying to relate it to something, then he'd usually laugh or berate himself, depending on how many times he'd thought about it that day. But none of those new realizations held as profound an impact on him as the feel of her.

Something had changed. Suddenly, he couldn't touch her, or be touched by her, without a softly burning sensation zinging along his skin– and that was through his clothing. When her skin actually touched his, the point of contact fairly glowed and the heat was amazing. He was truly and sincerely shocked that he hadn't burned her to a crisp already. But he didn't need to touch her to feel her. When she walked into a room, the air changed. He could feel when she approached, when she left, and especially when she was far too close.

Harry sighed, looking around the Common Room. It was well past midnight. He could brood on her for hours and get nowhere, which was usually the case. It was an even bigger problem than he'd have thought originally, because he needed the extra time to do all of his assignments without her seemingly infinite knowledge. He'd been avoiding her. He practiced Quidditch often, and late into the evening he'd disappear into the many passageways of the castle. He wasn't eating in the Great Hall anymore, but took his meals in the kitchens instead. He avoided the worktables in the Library and worked on the floor between two shelves in the back. The lighting was poor and there was a draft, but most importantly there was no one. No one ever came back there. Even Madame Pince seemed to have forgotten the small and well hidden alcove.

It worked out well enough in avoiding unwanted meetings, but the problem was they weren't truly unwanted. He missed her so much there was a dull ache in his chest where his heart should have been. He found himself rubbing it unconsciously more and more each day, usually when he thought of her, which could be anytime, really.

Harry walked to the fire and began stoking it. He knew he wasn't exhausted enough to fall straight to sleep yet and he couldn't just lie in silence. In the quiet of his bed, his thoughts seemed to magnify tenfold and he'd find himself missing her all the more. As it was, he dreamed of her, of holding her. That was always the dream. He'd awaken with her name on his lips and his pillow held tightly yet gently against his chest. It wasn't fair. She belonged to another– and not just any other, but Ron. She was Ron's and there was nothing he could do about it. He wouldn't even if there were, because it was Ron. He was avoiding him now too. It was just too painful to be near him, knowing that when they parted he would go to her, where Harry wanted to be. When he'd found himself making comparisons to Ron, finding Ron inadequate and wondering why she'd chosen him, he'd been so disgusted with himself he couldn't eat for nearly a week. Since that moment he'd avoided them both.

_Why her? Why now? Why?_ he asked himself as he took out his frustration on the fire. He'd asked the same questions over and over again, but to no avail. The cosmos was stubbornly refusing to answer him. And so he lived on, hoping, praying each night for relief, waking each morning with a deeper ache and a heavier heart.

Harry had decided two weeks into term that being nocturnal wasn't such a bad idea. Thus, each morning he arose just in time to throw on some cloths and book it to class. Then he'd sit in whatever empty seat was closest to the door. As soon as class was dismissed, he was out the door and down the hall before most of the others could pack their things. From there, he'd usually grab a bite to eat before rushing off to his next class. That was how it was, rush to and from class and disappear in between. Though most of the professors noticed his haste, not even Snape bothered him, for Harry did nothing wrong. Actually, he was doing much better in all his classes, and Potions in particular.

Harry had never realized how much he'd relied on outside help until it was removed. By isolating himself, he was forced to look up everything, to take more and better notes, and all the time in the Library helped him tremendously. He worked twice as diligently, because it helped to distract him. He found that he understood more and faster with each new lesson and, to his great surprise, Potions fascinated him. Snape had eased up on picking on Harry in class, because he had nothing to criticize. Often Harry knew every answer, was a quiet and diligent worker. And so, Harry awoke one fine Monday morning in mid-October feeling lonely, tired, angry and resentful, but expecting nothing less than a rushed day of hard work and hiding. He was wrong.


	3. A Single Touch

Chapter 2

A Single Touch

The sun rose bright and early. Harry did not. He rolled over and shut off the small crystalline ball that was flashing an angry red and screeching quite madly at him. When he looked at the clock he swore loudly and nearly flew from the bed. He threw on his clothes so fast, he was sure he must have forgotten something, and ran out of the room of requirement, where he'd been sleeping for nearly a week now. It took him roughly four minutes to get to the room that normally took ten, arriving winded and sweaty. He gave himself only a moment to get collected before entering Transfiguration roughly a half an hour late. When he opened the door all eyes turned to him.

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall. "I trust you have a very good reason for showing up so late to my class?"

"I'm sorry, Professor. I overslept. It won't happen again."

Harry thought he saw her head lean slightly to the side, as if in question, but she quickly turned back to the chalkboard.

"Remain behind after class, Mr. Potter. I'd like a word with you."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, resigning himself to his fate as he took his new favorite seat: the one right next to the door. He was just taking out some parchment for the notes when McGonagall spoke again.

"Miss Granger, you've finished with your assignment, correct?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione replied.

"Would you be so kind as to fill Mr. Potter in on what he's missed?"

"No!"

Again, all eyes turned toward Harry, this time in shock.

"I mean... Professor, you're nearly ready to continue and she'd, er, miss the lesson if she were helping me. It's my fault I'm late– It just seems right that I should have to do the extra work to figure it out on my own. What are we working on, anyway?" he asked the now very pensive looking Professor. She studied him just a moment longer before answering.

"We are pairing with Professor Sprout in the study of the transfiguration of poisonous plants: how to transfigure them into edible plants, how to detect a faulty transfiguration, later side-effects, the identification of the process, etc."

Harry nearly smiled, his mouth turning up slightly at the corner. He'd studied this two weeks ago in one of the potions books he'd found during his library wanderings. He was thinking that he already knew this so it would be easy to catch up, when a very clear voice from the front of the room snapped him back to the here and now with a jolt.

"I don't mind at all, Professor. I think I understand the concept now and I already have all the notes from earlier finished. I can get the new ones off the board later. It's not a problem."

"That's really not necessary," Harry said, addressing McGonagall, though he knew it was rude to bypass her like this. He could feel everyone staring at him, growing more interested by the second. "You see, I've already learned this for a study I did for Potions. I understand how to do it– the tests, when its considered too dangerous. I've read all about it. I've even succeeded in doing it. It's really not a problem."

Harry had said this to reassure McGonagall and get the focus back on the class, rather than himself. It had exactly the opposite effect. He now realized his mistake. Snape had not assigned the study, he'd chosen it because it had required a lot of study, which was good when he was trying to distract himself. As no one else had attempted to learn it, and probably because of Harry's track record for not being the most proactive student, McGonagall immediately grew suspicious and so were two other pairs of eyes– the only ones that hadn't been looking at him before. He could feel those eyes burning holes right through his face, willing him to acknowledge them. Obviously, he couldn't, though his will was sorely tested. He could feel her chocolate eyes scouring his face for some clue as to what he may be up to, for that was automatically what she assumed. He knew, could actually tell the color, could feel it, though he'd yet to look at her. Indeed, he'd avoided looking at her entirely for nearly three weeks. He wasn't going to break that now, no matter how hard it was.

"Well, if that's so, I see no need for you to have one-on-one attention," McGonagall said at length– "but I do want you to at least copy the notes."

Hermione was already walking from the very front of the class all the way to the back, giving Harry plenty of time to start panicking, but not enough to think of a reasonable way out of this. She stopped within inches of Harry's side, while Harry continued to stare at his parchment in something akin to horror. He felt his arm twitch. He could feel the heat from her skin– she was too close. When he didn't acknowledge her presence for a full thirty seconds, she cleared her throat. Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair looking for all the world like he'd just been forced to face his executioner. When he opened them, he was still facing the front of the room and could clearly see each and every confused and intrigued face. Ironically enough, McGonagall– the woman who'd instigated his torment– suddenly looked stricken and a little sad. She'd figured it out. _ you so much for the sympathy now_, Harry thought. Finally, he turned to face her, but only looked at the notes, already neatly rolled in her hand.

"Thank you," he said in a quiet, slightly strangled voice. He made no move to take them from her, hoping she'd just drop them on the desk and go. She was already infiltrating his mind and senses. If she touched him...

"Of course, Harry," she said just as quietly, outstretching her hand. She wanted him to take them from her, but because of the way she was holding them he'd have to touch her to do so. Crap! He knew he was sweating and he wasn't breathing normally. Why was this happening? What god could he have possibly pissed off so badly that he deserved this? He lifted a shaking hand to try to retrieve the notes without touching her, but, before he even got a chance to make an attempt, she pressed them firmly into his hand. In doing so, she had touched him, skin to skin, and his frayed nerves snapped as fire burned its way up his arm, snaking its way down into his belly and throughout the rest of his body.

He jerked his hand back and stood up so fast he knocked his chair over, sending Hermione jumping back in fright. He needed to escape. Now! It took a simple wave of his wand and all of his things were back in his bag. He grabbed it and sprinted out the door, neither noticing nor caring about the seriously confused people he'd left behind.

* * *

Hermione stared at Harry's retreating form in a state of shock and utter confusion– not to mention hurt. He'd been acting strangely toward her since his birthday and outright ignoring her for weeks. She was so worried about him, it made her sick, but she couldn't get close enough to help. She feared the end of the war had taken a far greater toll on him than anyone had realized.

He'd spent his whole life hiding from Voldemort and the last six years actively trying to overcome or destroy him. And now it was done, over, gone. And he was just expected to go back to normal. At least, that was the only reason she could come up with. The problem was, it didn't quite explain all the facts.

Ron said he was distant with him as well, but Harry spoke with him at Quidditch practice and never ran away from him so blatantly. He also acted perfectly normal around _everyone else_. She'd watch him whenever she got the chance, though they were fewer and farther between with each passing day. Harry still talked normally to anyone who wasn't herself or Ron. She'd watched him joke with Dean and Seamus. She'd heard him soundly insult Malfoy. He helped Neville with a charm he'd misunderstood and gushed with Ginny about some Quidditch match or other. It was like every part of his life that didn't involve his closest friends, was normal. There was a niggling in the back of her mind about that, but Hermione dismissed it without acknowledging it's existence.

She just couldn't believe he'd actually run away from her, simply because she'd touched him.

She looked down at the offending hand. It felt hot and tingly. It had as soon as she'd touched his, but she hadn't paid it any attention until now. The sensation was spreading up her arm._ Is that why he ran? Surely not. It doesn't hurt. Actually, it felt rather nice._ She was still staring at her slightly pinkened fingers when McGonagall called to her, softly.

"Hermione?"

"Hn?" she asked, turing in something of a daze. McGonagall looked concerned and was standing right beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Hermione hadn't even noticed.

"Are you alight? Do you need to take a moment?"

She was about to reply that of course she was all right, why wouldn't she be, when the truth slipped out of its own accord.

"I don't know what I did," she said. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked back to the empty doorway, which she angrily blinked away. _Don't be ridiculous, Hermione. _"He's been like this for ages. He won't talk to me or look at me. That was the first I'd spoken to him in over a month." She turned back to Professor McGonagall. "I just don't know what I did." She was just so worried, that was all it was...

Except that missed him more than she'd ever thought possible. He was supposed to be her friend. He was an important part of her family. What happened? She felt lost and lonely without him. Didn't he know that he made her feel safe and protected just by being there, that his dry wit kept her smiling, that she looked for messy, black hair whenever she entered a crowd, that green had inexplicably become her favorite color... That she couldn't concentrate on any one thing long enough to read a book and thereby escape from her troubles anymore, that she'd started crying herself to sleep without being able to explain why, that she and Ron's romantic relationship was in trouble without him around, that her world felt completely wrong, utterly empty, without him in it. She turned away from that thought.

She'd been so happy at the end of term last year. Voldemort was gone and so few lives had been lost. Harry hadn't gotten hurt, which had been her greatest concern. Ron had finally asked her out when he'd recovered from his injuries and she was to spend most of the summer at The Burrow, Harry joining them for his birthday. Everything should be great, perfect, idyllic. But it hadn't turned out that way. Looking back now she remembered Harry getting quieter and quieter. He'd said so little on the train ride home and it had only gotten worse in their time at The Burrow. She had attributed it to the war, but now she wasn't so sure. Why would he flee only from them, only her, really?

Hermione sighed and returned to her seat beside Ron. He gave her a familiar embrace that she had come to notice didn't quite hold the warmth and comfort it once had.

* * *

Three hours later Harry was still in the library. He was sitting against the shelf, eyes closed, head leaned back. His legs were drawn up to his chest, hands clasped, forearms resting on his knees. He hadn't moved from that spot the entire time– unless you count banging his head against the shelf behind him, in which case he'd moved constantly for the first hour. All he'd gotten for his troubles was a massive headache.

In that moment Harry's mind was blissfully blank. He'd finished cursing himself, McGonagall, himself, the fates, and especially himself about an hour ago and had since been sitting in something akin to a mind numbing trance. Though no actual thoughts were registering in his head, he was grateful for the reprieve. If he hadn't been so wired, he would have fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion. But there would be no sleep.

Though his mind had become pleasantly empty, his heart was wrenchingly so. Each time she touched him it grew worse, the painful loneliness. Emptiness he feared would one day consume him, grew fiercer and lasted longer with each careless gesture. Even now, hours later he was still flushed and tingly all over. She had no idea, and wasn't that just perfect? He still couldn't understand it. Why, oh why was it that you never realize what you have until it's gone– not that he'd ever actually had her...

Just then, Harry heard a sound from close by, far too close by, and it jerked him back to reality. He tried to stand quickly, but his muscles screamed in protest after sitting so long in one position. There were voices a few rows behind him, which was strange, because only Madame Pince ever came back that far... There were definitely two voices, one male, one female. Then he felt it. The change in the air that made him catch his breath, just as her scent hit him full in the face.

He let out a colorful expletive as he jumped to his feet. He didn't feel the pain this time. _How on earth did she find me_, he thought as he scrambled to erase all evidence of his presence. He was suddenly incredibly grateful that he'd cleaned the dust from the shelves back here so there was no disruption in it to testify against him. Only Madame Pince would know that she hadn't been the one to do it. He doused the light and hid in the space at the end of the shelf. He'd barely pressed his back against the wall when he felt her enter the small alcove. He held his breath.

* * *

"Lumos," Ron said.

Hermione looked around. She liked this place on sight, but couldn't figure out why. It was dark, drafty, and musty, but for some reason she felt comforted here. The tension in her shoulders eased a bit.

"How do you suppose Harry found it all the way back here? You didn't even know about this place," Ron said.

"That's what's worrying me. What was so important that he would go to all the trouble? Why would he need to learn about the transfiguration of poisonous plants? I wish I knew what he was up to..." Hermione said, looking at the shelves.

"At least now we have a clue as to why he's been avoiding us," Ron said. Hermione didn't stop looking over the shelves when she responded.

"What do you mean us?" Her tone clearly conveyed both anger and hurt. "He doesn't look at you? He doesn't speak to you? He would rather make a huge scene in Transfiguration than accept some well meant help from you? The thought of touching you, even just a brush of your fingers, repulses him so much that he has to literally flee your presence? No? I thought not. He isn't avoiding you, Ronald."

"He's avoiding both of us, Hermione," Ron said, obviously trying to comfort her. "He only speaks to me if he has to: Quidditch, a message from a teacher. It's the same with you."

"He acted like I had a wand held to his temple this morning. He was horrified by the whole situation. Did you see the look he gave McGonagall? You know it was because she forced him to interact with me. He wasn't even going to acknowledge my presence. I had to clear my throat for Merlin's sake!

"Doesn't he know that it hurts, that my heart physically hurts when he acts like this?... I so worried about him, Ron." _I miss him so much._

"I know," Ron said. He reached for her shoulder, but she turned farther away from him.

"Hermione, please, don't cry. He'll come 'round. You know Harry gets weird every so often. We'll come back and we'll kick him in the arse. Then everything will be back to normal."

He put his arms around her middle and pulled her back against his chest. This time she didn't protest, but leaned against him gratefully.

They were considerably better at reading each other. Ron was learning to just say how he felt to her and she attempted to make things blatantly apparent. It was a compromise of necessity. Apparently, Harry had helped each of them understand the other in times of struggle, because without having him around, their fights were much worse.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to fall apart on you."

"It's alright. That's what I'm here for."

But she didn't hear him. Her body stiffened as she spotted one of the bottom shelves. It was mostly empty, but for about fifteen books or so. Each shelf could have held roughly fifty. Something was just different about this one...

She moved away from Ron to examine the small collection. She wasn't sure why, but she felt drawn to them. At least half were on potions, one or two were on charms, several were on defense against the dark arts, one was on transfiguration, and the last two were magical encyclopedias. She reached out for one of the encyclopedias and as soon as she touched it she knew it was Harry's. She ran her fingers along the cover. It was brand new, but had obviously been opened. Someone had looked through it recently. Sure enough, when she opened it there was his signature scrawled along the inside cover. She ran her fingers over it before snapping it shut and pulling out the next one. Again, _Harry Potter_ was written just inside the cover. She pulled out the next and saw that it was a library book taken out by none other than one Harry Potter. She quickly flew through each book on the shelf. Harry owned or had taken out each and every one and kept them all neatly arranged and well tended on this shelf.

"Why do you suppose he keeps them here?" Ron asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Because this is where he goes to hide from us," Hermione said softly, a look of dawning comprehension spreading across her features. _Of course. No one came here. _She looked around. It was small and out of the way. But there was no dust. There was dust _everywhere_ in this library. It was centuries old with one old woman caretaker. But this tiny space was immaculate. No cobwebs, the shelves were neat and tidy. She was suddenly certain. In her heart and in her gut she knew this was where he'd been going. Suddenly, she felt like she was intruding. She returned all the books and moved to stand, but another in the back, one that had fallen behind the shelf, caught her eye. She reached in and pulled it out. Turning it over, she looked at the title and gasped. It was an obviously new, but read, copy of Hogwarts, A History.

Hermione's heart tightened and she felt a lurch in her stomach as a thousand questions exploded into her mind. _Did he read this for me? Why would he? Why would he read it otherwise? If he did, what does that mean? Why would he do something he certainly didn't want to, just because it would please me? Why would he do it if I was never going to find out anyway? But why would he want to please me in the first place? It was never important before, not like this. But he's angry with me, isn't he? If he isn't angry, then why is he avoiding me? __**What the bloody hell is going on!?**_

"We should get out of here," she said abruptly, putting the book back.

"What? Why?" Ron exclaimed, looking around. "We could hide or something and corner him when he comes back. We could make him talk to us– and we still haven't found that book for McGonagall's class."

"No."

"But Hermione–"

"No, Ron! Don't you see? This is his sanctuary, his secret place. It's practically sacred. He comes here for a reason, Ron. He's avoiding us for a reason. Harry isn't cruel. He knows we love him and, seeing as he's not stupid, he knows that it's hurting us to be without him. I can only conclude that he has a very good reason for doing this... or he'd better," she added under her breath. She could feel his presence as surely as if he'd been standing there with them. Tamping down what could only be described as a painful kind of nostalgia, she ignored the fast becoming desperate desire to sit with the books and wait for Harry's return.

"Us being here, in his secret place where he goes to get away _from us_, is wrong. We need to leave. I need to leave," Hermione said, her voice hitching. With that, she turned and fled the little alcove and the painful feelings it inspired.

* * *

Harry sunk to the floor as soon as he was positive they'd gone. Her words echoed in his mind, haunting him. He hadn't even thought about hurting them. He'd thought of disappointment, anger, confusion, but pain? How stupid he'd been. He did know they loved him, obviously it would hurt them to be treated this way. He knew the pain she described, the pain of missing someone so much that the hurt was a physical weight in your chest. He felt it for his parents, for Sirius, and now for Hermione too. And she had sounded hurt. She'd cried. He'd made her cry and it was tearing his heart out. And she thought he was repulsed by her... He almost laughed at the absurdity of it. And still she had fought for him. She had understood his need and respected it. Was it possible to love her anymore? She was so selfless...

And so, Harry made a decision. No matter how much it killed him, he'd try. He'd try to talk to them. He'd find a way to spend time with them. He couldn't touch her, but maybe that could be avoided... He swallowed audibly and started to shake a little, but just the same, he picked up his things and headed for Potions.


	4. Prolonged Exposure

Chapter 3

Prolonged Exposure

Harry stood at the end of the hall that lead to Snape's dungeon. He was ten minutes early for class. None of the other students had shown up yet, but he knew they would soon. His resolve was wavering and he knew it, but he couldn't make his feet move. Taking a deep breath, he shook himself. You defeated Voldemort. You can walk down a bloody corridor and stand in a queue.

Not feeling at all bolstered by his own derision, he sighed but walked down the hall anyway. When he reached the door to Potions he stopped and leaned against the wall, staring at a painting of a fox. It was sleeping in its den as a muggle hunter approached carrying a gun and a torch. Harry couldn't help but relate to the fox. Within moments he heard the approach of several students. He wondered if they were Slytherins or Gryffindors, then which would be worse.

It turned out to be Slytherins and of course, it was all of his favorites in one big group to boot. Why did they have to travel in packs? It didn't take long for Malfoy to notice him. He actually smiled at Harry, his eyes alight with menace. Harry steeled himself as Malfoy left the others and leaned against the wall beside him. When Malfoy said nothing, Harry gave in and finally looked at him. Malfoy's eyes were cool and calculating. Like so many others he looked at Harry like a riddle.

"What was it?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Harry found it disconcerting, this change in Malfoy's demeanor. He didn't mock, didn't sneer, but seemed genuinely curious. Harry's back stiffened as he sensed Malfoy's intentions. Whatever he meant to ask, it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation.

"What exactly happened that made you hate her? I want to know what she did that made you look at her with fear and pain in your eyes, why you can't bear her presence, let alone her touch."

Another large group showed up, this time mostly Gryffindors. They froze when they saw Harry tense and unnerved leaning against a wall with Malfoy, who was quite relaxed and calm.

"Should I ask them? Do you wonder what they think," Malfoy asked as Harry's eyes shot up from the ground, flying to his classmates'. He hadn't looked at them, not directly, in ages.

"Why does he avoid her?" Malfoy asked, his eyes following Harry's toward them. Harry remained leaning leisurely by the door, belying the tenseness of every muscle in his body, including his heart. One of them was bound to have noticed something. It would be disastrous if Malfoy knew.

His housemates were curious– curious being an understatement– but they apparently still harbored some loyalty toward him, because no one uttered a word. When he turned back to Harry, he seemed almost pleasant. Harry didn't know if Malfoy could tell, but his calm assurance was actually frightening in a way Malfoy had never achieved before.

"I'll be watching, Potter. Enjoy class today."

The door to Harry's right swung open as Malfoy pushed away from the wall. Harry had never been happy to see Snape, but apparently there really was a first for everything.

Sitting in the last seat of the very last row, he set down his bag on the only open place next to him. Harry watched as the other students took their seats. The Slytherins started to sit together in rows of three, but Draco went around to them and whispered something to each group. They ended up spreading out in pairs and took up a lot more room. Harry frowned.

Just as they settled down Ron walked in. Harry watched as he went straight past him and took a seat in the next row up. He was alone and appeared to be preoccupied. Harry on time– a rare occurrence indeed– had gone completely unnoticed. When Snape began writing something on the blackboard Harry started getting his things out. However, he was distracted when he heard Ron say something he probably shouldn't have, only to find that Malfoy had sat with him. Draco had chosen the seat directly in front of Harry, who barely had time to register the shock before Snape caught his attention.

"Detention, Miss Granger, for your tardiness."

Harry spun around to look at the door. There she was. It took a moment for thoughts to register in his head so lost was he in just seeing her. He hadn't allowed himself this painful pleasure in far too long. She was so beautiful. Beautiful in a way that made the ache in his heart flare even as he acknowledged that it was worth it just to see her face. Slowly the specifics began to sink in. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes red and overly bright. It was obvious she'd been upset. That was probably why she was late. Vaguely, he wondered why she wasn't moving and that's when the power of thought returned to him rather abruptly.

His eyes flew around the room, from the Gryffindors grouped together, to the spread out Slytherins, to Malfoy sitting next to Ron, and finally to the empty seat beside himself. Immediately, all the good intentions he'd set out with vanished. He couldn't do it. It would kill him to have her so close. His heart seemed to think he was running a marathon and sweat broke out all over his body. He looked back to Malfoy, who gave him a pleasant smile. He was watching the goings-on with growing amusement and pleasure.

"Like I said," he whispered to Harry, "enjoy class, Potter."

"Take a seat, Miss Granger, or it will be another ten."

Harry felt her come up behind him. He felt her hesitate and could only imagine what was going through her mind. He didn't want to hurt her, so slowly, like he was dreading the consequences of his actions more than anything- which made sense, being true and all- he reached out and removed his bag from the seat next to him. By this point everyone was staring and Malfoy looked like Christmas had come early.

Hermione hesitated only a moment longer before moving forward and taking the seat. He was instantly bathed in her scent. She was like fire. If he got near her he heated up all over and whichever part was closest, in this case his left arm, felt almost too hot. It was unexplainable.

"Thank you," she said in a quiet voice as she took out her things.

He couldn't bring himself to utter words, so he merely nodded back. Snape began to lecture and Harry returned to his notes. It was so much harder to concentrate with her there. She set out her inkwell and he shifted away from the movement that had brought her closer. He noticed that she paused in her endeavor to look at him. He felt like an ass, but he couldn't let her touch him again, not twice in one day. Having her this close was enough of an unholy torture as it was.

Every time she dipped her quill in the well, he could feel how close she came. Soon his fatigue caught up with him and, despite how intense the situation was, he couldn't focus. Snape's voice fell to the background.

The warmth of being near her, her scent enveloping him, it sent shock waves of sensation through his system, especially to his heart. The aching in his chest increased tenfold, but at the same time made it almost sweet. He could hear the soft sound of her breathing despite the incessant scratching of her quill. His eyes drifted closed without him noticing, as he soaked in as much of her presence as he could. He didn't even notice when his face turned slightly toward her and his breathing slowed.

"Harry," she whispered.

He jerked away, his eyes shooting wide open.

"I'm sorry, but you were falling asleep," she whispered.

_If only_, he thought as he left a space on his parchment for whatever he'd missed and tried to refocus his attention on Snape. He struggled on with his notes, an especially difficult task when an epic battle was taking place inside him between his desires and his instincts of self-preservation. Then the one thing he'd been dreading happened. She reached for her inkwell without looking and her hand came down on his arm.

Such a simple touch, but oh, the havoc it wreaked.

Jerking away from her, he knocked over his own inkwell, sending a wave of black over the worktable. He didn't care. Actually, he commended himself on his restraint in remaining seated as the slow heat burned through his body. He could only be grateful it hadn't been skin on skin. Malfoy was watching him over his shoulder, his eyes boring into Harry's.

Looking away, Harry rubbed his arm in the futile hope that it would ease the burn. He was heated up again, only this time it had already happened once and on top of that, he was being exposed to her for a extended period of time. She was infiltrating his senses and he could feel that familiar emptiness seem to spread and fill him, as it always did when she touched him. Only this was worse. When she touched him he always fled and then from a safe distance longed for her. Now he couldn't. He had to stay beside her, nearly touching her, breathing her in. He couldn't believe it was happening and in such extremes. He needed a moment to calm himself.

"I'm so–" she started to say.

"Is everything quite alright, Mr. Potter?" Snape snapped, obviously irritated. Harry looked up to see that everyone was looking at him again. He looked away from them to Snape, hoping the man wouldn't see what he was sure his eyes couldn't hide.

"Yes, sir. Sorry for the interruption." His voice didn't sound quite right, but it was nowhere near as bad as he'd thought it would be.

"Ten points and see that it doesn't happen again."

With a wave of his wand, Harry replaced the ink in the well. Though annoyed at the growing number of house points being lost, he was relieved to find that his notes weren't unsalvageable.

"You know Potter, I can't blame you. I wouldn't want her to touch me either," Malfoy whispered over his shoulder.

Harry froze. He heard Hermione's intake of breath. The very fact that she didn't hurl a retort at him meant that he'd hurt her. Or rather, he'd reinforced the hurt Harry was causing her, and somehow that was worse. Harry felt a wave of outrage rush through him, far more than he usually felt whenever Hermione had been verbally attacked. He didn't take the time to analyze it; all he could think of was Hermione's pain. He couldn't stand it.

"Don't speak of things you know _nothing_ about, Malfoy."

What Harry felt could be heard in his voice, fury, outrage; it would make no sense to any of them. Ron looked at him like he was crazy, and he probably sounded it. The closest Slytherins looked shocked, the Gryffindors confused. Hermione didn't look at him at all, but stared at her desk, her quill stationary. Most disturbing was Malfoy. He didn't even respond, but stared Harry down. He was searching for something and it was wholly discomforting to see him so clearheaded and calm, especially in the face of Harry's wrath.

Soon it was time for the practical portion of the class. The notes were removed and cauldrons brought out. Naturally, whomever you were sitting with was your partner. Ron and Malfoy got into an argument, costing Gryffindor more points. This was the part where interactions were inevitable. Steeling himself, Harry began getting the proper ingredients out. He knew what it was like to brew a single potion with someone. There was limited space and timing was important. It was going to be nearly impossible to avoid touching her and he'd have to actually talk to her now...

"I don't have any toadstool left. We'll have to use yours," she said quietly, without looking at him, "but I have extra newt eyes, so we can just use mine for that."

Harry nodded numbly.

They began working and it was clear that she wanted to talk to him. She kept shooting him glances out of the corner of her eye when he wasn't looking. How could she know that he could actually feel when her eyes touched him? Part of him longed to speak with her, to hear her voice calm and comfortable, confident even. The urge was so strong he found himself giving into it, though his head told him it probably wasn't the best idea. When next he felt her eyes on him he spoke quietly without taking his eyes from the potion.

"It's okay. You can talk to me."

There was a sharp intake of breath. Apparently, he'd shocked her. His conscience twisted with guilt as she fairly radiated confusion. And when had he become so capable of interpreting her reactions? Despite his encouragement, she remained quiet until they were nearly finished. Somehow Harry knew she'd intentionally waited until then, when it required less attention.

"How have you been?" she asked as their potion began to turn the proper shade of light blue. Harry was stirring while she added the last of the ingredients. There was little left to do now.

"I'm fine," he replied.

It was one of the biggest lies of his life, especially at that moment, but how could he tell her the truth? He didn't know why he asked it later, perhaps out of habit, but the next thing out of his mouth was, "How are you doing?" He'd forgotten how she could be when the occasion called for it: no nonsense and brutally honest.

"I'm lonely."

More than the words was the way she said them, like it was a simple truth that held no consequences, but there was an underlying current in her voice that shouted the validity of her statement. She was just sharing, but it hit him like a blow and he found himself mentally justifying his actions.

"You have Ron."

Her hand paused halfway to the cauldron. She was looking at his face; he could feel it. After a moment that held an eternity she threw in the spiders' legs, but she didn't reach for the next item on the list.

"It's not the same, Harry. I miss you."

She reached for his hand, the one holding the wooden spoon they used for stirring. He tried to drop it, but she clamped down surprising speed. He hissed out a breath and closed his eyes, willing the fire that raced along his skin and throughout his body to ease. It was intoxicating, both pain and pleasure. He'd never let her sustain contact before, but when she didn't let go he figured– through what muddled wits he had left to him– that there was a reason and opened his eyes to face whatever he may find.

Hers were there, the color of rich earth after rain, staring up into his. She was looking at him strangely. Her expression was bright with intrigue, confusion, and... was that excitement? He felt that if he looked too long she would see past his facade and into things best left untouched. Tearing his gaze away, he looked at their joined hands. His was flushed pink from the heat. He could feel it tingling. Was he mistaken, or was hers slightly pink too?

"You were stirring it too quickly," she said softly as she used her hand to slow his down.

"You could have just told me," he said, pulling away.

Immediately, he felt the strangest combination of being overheated and cold. She didn't say anything and he made the mistake of glancing at her face. She was both hurt and angry. He could handle her anger; the hurt was another thing entirely. So he focused on bringing out the latter. At least that way the hurting may be less painful. He knew it was flawed logic, but whatever. He also knew from experience that anger could often be dealt with more easily than sorrow. Malfoy turned around just then and decided to make matters worse.

"For a witch who claims to know everything, you sure are thick, Granger. He doesn't want your filthy hands on him. That you insist on touching him raises interesting questions, eh, Weasly?"

Before Harry even had time to panic, Hermione's retort shot out like a slap to the face.

"Well even I, lowlife mudblood, would puke if you ever touched me Malfoy. What does that say of _you_?"

Harry let out a bark of shocked laughter. He hadn't laughed in what felt like ages, not like this. If he hadn't know better, the speed and flawless aim of her retort would have led him to believe she'd practiced that ahead of time. He was deeply pleased with her. Malfoy's face registered shock and then rage, but as Snape was headed their way, there was no opportunity to do anything about it. Harry was still chuckling as he retrieved the spoon from Hermione– without touching her. When he glanced at her, she was flushed, but it didn't look like it was because she was angry. Harry took the next handful of ingredients and added them himself. The dried seeds had to be dropped in one at a time while Hermione slowly poured in the bile.

He glanced up at the sound of Ron cursing Malfoy. It was a second too long and he regretted it as soon as Hermione put her hand on his side. It wasn't anything big; she just rested her hand there to let him know she was leaning in toward the potion and to keep her balance as she did so. He didn't even think she was aware of were hundreds of the same casual touches in their past, but in the past he didn't feel feverish with heat and longing when she did. He didn't feel like a small part of himself was torn away with her hand when she removed it. He didn't spend the several hours following such encounters feeling weak and empty with the need for her in his life, in his arms. That was how he felt now. She felt wonderful, but she hurt too and he couldn't allow himself to forget the hurt that would come. Having finished with the seeds, he reached down to her hand, grasped it, and physically removed it from himself. He didn't hurt her, but he let her know he was angry.

"Stop. Touching. Me," he ground out through clenched teeth. He was riding out the waves of pain that accompanied the withdrawal of contact with her. It was worse every time.

His hand had been bare on hers and he was trying desperately to deal with all the sensations. As soon as he'd let go of her, he'd felt the extreme heat and cold blend together again. His mind was starting to cloud. Her presence alone was enough to distract him. Touching him once was enough to throw him off for an entire day. The woman wouldn't quit and now he was a mess of nerves, heat, cold, temper, and sleeplessness. He couldn't handle much more. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear to Harry that Hermione had had enough, too.

"Why not? What is wrong with me that I can't touch you? You aren't doing this to anyone else! Why me?" she whispered furiously. "Look at me, Potter."

Potter?

"No."

He wouldn't. He refused to look her in the eye. He could see too much there. But more importantly, she would have access to too much in return.

She flipped. Slamming down the glass vial she was holding, she spun to face him completely.

"If you have something to say to me, say it," she snapped.

Harry was painfully aware of the number of eyes turning toward them. It wasn't for his own sake– the world knew he could handle it– but he knew this was going to hurt her. It made him sick to contemplate it. He found himself constantly torn between being incapable of seeing her in pain and knowing he had to hurt her to keep her away. They needed to stay away from each other until he got this figured out. Screw his earlier ideas. Being selfless and sacrificing his own comfort, _if you could even call it that_, for her was just not something he could do. His reactions today only served to prove it to him. He loved her. Yes, that was painfully apparent. But he couldn't have her and being near her without having her was too much for him. She and Ron deserved happiness and had found it in each other, so he would accept this fate and bow out, gracefully or not. He spoke without looking up from his own vial as he readied it for the potion. His tone was simple, bland even.

"I have nothing to say to you, Hermione."

Oh, the lies abound, he thought as even saying her name sent pangs to his heart. She hadn't reacted yet and he feared what would happen when she did.

"Say it to my face."

She sounded both angrier and less sure of herself. Of course, she couldn't just make it easy for them both. She had to drag it out. It was like slowly ripping off the band-aid.

"I don't want to look at your face," he replied, again with a tone that implied boredom and redundancy.

"Look at me."

He did not.

"Harry!"

Her voice was a desperate whisper now. The anger was taking a backseat to the hurt. He could hear tears in her voice. He looked at her hand, currently bunched into a fist on the table. He desperately wanted her to understand, even as he dreaded her ever doing so.

"No."

His voice was cold now. He'd made it turn so. He mentally disconnected his heart, as it was screaming at him to turn and tell her everything, to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, to lose himself in her embrace and damn the consequences.

"Just tell me wh–"

"No!" he said, cutting her off, his tone biting.

_If only you could know how much I don't want to say these things to you._

Malfoy and Ron had completely abandoned their potion. Ron looked furious, Draco analytical. Harry ignored them all. Hermione's breathing was irregular and he could tell she was fast coming into a rage. Within seconds he was proven right. She slapped him across the face. Hard.

"Damn you! Damn you and your stupid secrecy." She was whispering, but even so her tone could take the skin off your hide. "You don't want to look at me? Touch me? Fine. _Don't_ look at me. Don't you _dare_ touch me. I will have nothing to do with you. But before you walk out of my life forever, know this: I will _not _make it easy for you."

And with that she turned on her heel and fled the potions room, heavy bag of books en-to. Harry stood there for a moment, trying to adjust to the throbbing in his cheek. It was the strangest sort of pain. Normally, it felt almost pleasurable when she touched him. It also hurt, but he had always thought that was more the physical side effects of emotional pain and extreme heat. This time, however, he felt the pleasure, but the physical pain was magnified and seemed to reverberate throughout his being. As it seemed to calm a bit, he noticed the faces staring.

Snape seemed torn between anger and amusement. Ron looked utterly perplexed. Draco couldn't contain his glee. Everyone else was openly shocked.

"Potter, how many times must I tell you not to disrupt my class. Detention, and the next time you have a lovers' tiff, see to it it's not in my classroom."


	5. In the Hospital Wing

Chapter 4

In The Hospital Wing

Hermione was fuming. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this angry. Secretly, she fueled it. It was so much easier to be angry. To allow irrationality to reign was her only choice, for she knew even as she stormed through the castle that when it faded she would be desolate. It was much better to rage and storm and fight than to be left at the end of it broken and bleeding. And she did fuel it. Never one to swear, she caught more than one eye as she let fly the most colorful language she'd ever deemed it necessary to use, relishing every word, each shocked gasp and widened eye. _Let them stare. Let them whisper. To Hell with them all!_ It felt good, this indulgence and she focused all her will on keeping it going, for somehow she knew this time it would be worse than before.

She'd practically begged him. No, she _had_ begged him, and he'd turned coldly away from her. That part of her that always cringed when she was mocked or shunned, it just couldn't stand that someone so loved, so important could abandon her. She felt cold deep inside. Part of her was dying. She broke into a run, desperately needing escape. The walls of this giant castle suddenly felt close and oppressive. Reaching the Entrance Hall, she rushed to the doors and beyond. Her rage was draining away as memories flew through her mind's eye: his flight this morning, his hand pulling away from hers while stirring the potion, his flat refusal to look at her, the feel of his hand as he physically removed hers from his side, the coldness in his voice.

'I don't want to look at your face...'

Her eyes burned, her lungs, her legs, but she couldn't stop running until finally she hit the forest and the tears she hadn't let fall all day burst through her defenses. They flooded her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. Her heart pounded as she leaned against the nearest tree, fearful her legs may drop from beneath her. She tried to calm her erratic breathing and slow her racing heart, but it was impossible when she was sobbing so hard. Slumping to the ground, she hugged her knees to her chest. She allowed herself these few moments. For just this short time, she would let herself wallow. She didn't do it often and with so much hurt, she felt herself justified.

She didn't wipe the tears away, but let them fall and dry of their own accord as she leaned back against the tree. Staring up into the many leaves, Hermione did what she did best. She thought. Harry seemed to hate her, but she knew that he didn't. It wasn't in him to hate without cause. She shoved aside the doubts his behavior had growing inside her and focused on what didn't make sense.

He'd bought and read _Hogwarts, A History._ To some that may seem like nothing, but somehow she knew he'd done it for her. He had let her sit with him in Potions. Granted, there wasn't _much_ choice, but he could have forced her to sit with the Slytherins. Then there was his voice, quiet and calm, telling her it was okay to talk to him. He had sensed her need to speak and addressed it. He even participated in her attempt at conversation, until she kept touching him... Then there was his reaction to her comment for Malfoy. His laughter rang in her ears. The look on his face as he'd smiled, chuckling to himself at her cleverness. Just the memory had a warm tenderness spreading through her.

And why was that? She shouldn't want to please him. He deserved to be slapped again. Though, truthfully, she couldn't deny that she_ did_ want to please him. It was becoming a desperate need in her, just as her wish to touch him. It was almost an itch in her fingers when he was near. She didn't even think about it. She had tried very hard not to touch him today, though it certainly didn't seem like it. It just couldn't be helped. When he got close she wanted to establish some sort of contact and physical seemed to be the only one she could get lately– and that involuntarily. She wanted, needed him to acknowledge her in a way she couldn't have explained to anyone. She didn't understand it herself.

For the hundredth time Hermione tried to imagine if it had been Ron that had abandoned her, rather than Harry. She knew she'd have been hurt, but she couldn't help wondering if she'd have reacted so strongly. She had fought with Ron before, but it had never cause her entire life to crumble the way it did now that Harry was gone. She knew that she and Ron weren't meant to be, just as she knew she was too much of a coward to tell him. He would leave her too and she would be completely alone. She just couldn't handle that.

Standing on shaky legs, she moved away from the tree and out of the forest. She had developed a terrible headache and just wanted to sleep. Looking at the sky, she could tell that dinner was still more than an hour off. And so, she headed back to the castle. Madame Pomfrey could heal her headache and then she'd take her nap.

* * *

Harry was the first to depart from Potions. Except, of course, for Hermione. Quickly gathering his things, he left the room at a brisk pace. He had to admit, it had been a complete and total disaster. He could still feel her everywhere she'd touched him. He kept rubbing his side, his arm, his hand. His heart. His cheek had begun to throb and he feared that his skin had actually been burned. He turned behind a suit of armor and moved through a concealed door that lead to a hidden staircase. It would bring him to the very same corridor that held the Room of Requirement. If you didn't know it was there, you couldn't find it. On his way up the stairs he passed a painting of a woman sitting before her vanity. He'd passed it dozens of times before, but today he stopped short.

There in the mirror was Harry's reflection. He looked a sight. His color was high beneath the unhealthy pallor he'd seen so much of lately. His eyes were a bit sunken from the lack of sleep and looked tortured even to himself. His clothes seemed to hang from him like those of a scarecrow, but most importantly, there actually was a burn mark on his left cheek in the shape of a delicate female hand. Lifting his own, he neared the burn with his fingers, but didn't end up touching his cheek. Even getting close, the heat caused it to throb with renewed vigor. He stared in shock for a moment before releasing a few choice cuss words and continuing on up the stairs.

Upon reaching what he had come to think of as his room, or rather small set of rooms, he went inside and locked the door. Immediately, he put his back to it and sank to the floor. He couldn't imagine a way that could have turned out worse. A brittle, humorless laugh escaped him as he thought it over once more. He'd tried to be kind, but apparently he should just give in to the inevitable and quit completely. Then the image of her blush as he'd laughed in delight of her flashed before his eyes. She'd been pleased that he'd been pleased. He knew it in retrospect. He thought of her pleas for understanding, how desperately she wanted to know what had gone wrong. Then of her voice as she'd threatened him, though part of him feared it wasn't a threat.

Bitterness rose up in him as he stood and crossed to the bathroom, growing angrier with each step he took– toward himself, toward her, toward Ron. Resentment mingled with it as he looked in the mirror at the hand mark on his face. It infuriated him, yet another mark upon him that she had unwittingly left for him to try to deal with.

"Won't make it easy for me," he said with scorn. "Like you bloody well are now!"

A fresh wave of frustration washed over him as he realized he was trapped. It hurt like hell and was starting to bleed in places. Being in the air only served to worsen the pain significantly, but how could he go to Madame Pomfrey like this? How was he to explain it away? He certainly wasn't going to tell her the truth. When his cheek gave a particularly sharp pang, he decided there was no hope for it and turned right back around to head for the Hospital Wing.

Harry arrived minutes later with a plan. He'd decided that he would say nothing at all to Madame Pomfrey about the origin of the burn. She couldn't very well make him, so let her be suspicious all she wanted. Walking through to her office, he noticed that no one else was around. That suited him just fine. He could just imagine what people would say if they saw it, knowing what had happened in Potions, as he was sure the entire school was well on its way to knowing.

"Madame Pomfrey?" Harry called. "Are you here?"

"Yes! I'm in the back. Is it an emergency?"

"Not particularly," Harry said, hoping that didn't mean he'd have to wait ages for her to appear.

"I'll be right out. Have a seat on one of the beds."

Sighing, Harry sat on the end of the nearest bed, laying back with his hands behind his head. It never ceased to amaze him, the comfort of the beds. Unbidden, his eyes drifted closed and sleep crept over him within seconds.

* * *

When Hermione trudged into the Hospital Wing her headache had grown to be unbearable. She seemed to get them so often lately. Madame Pomfrey kept a special vial out for her now. She walked toward the back just as she saw the older woman come out of one of the back rooms. Though the light was sending sharp, piercing pains racing through her head, she kept her eyes open as she continued her trek.

"Another headache dear? Why didn't you just say so? You know where the potion is. You didn't have to wait for me," the older woman admonished.

"What? Madame Pomfrey, I just got here," Hermione responded, reaching for the proffered vial and quickly downing a mouthful. Immediately, her head cleared and she sighed in relief. "They're getting worse."

The nurse looked at Hermione for a long moment with assessing eyes and shook her head. "Nearly everyone gets a headache after weeping, dear," she said quietly.

Hermione blushed, but before she could move toward a mirror a soft snore met her ears. She froze, instantly aware of a warmth in the room that she hadn't noticed before.

"Harry!" she said aloud without realizing it, as she spun in the direction of the warmth. There he was, sleeping on the nearest bed. He looked so drained. He hadn't even lain down, but had simply fallen backward, feet still on the floor. Unconsciously, her feet brought her closer. She was standing directly over him, her feet between his, when Madame Pomfrey's voice broke the spell that had fallen over her.

"He must have been the one that called me. He said it wasn't an emergency. I wonder what's wrong wi– Oh my!"

Hermione gasped. She felt like she'd taken a blow to the stomach. In his sleep Harry had turned his head slightly, revealing a horrible burn. He must have been exhausted to have fallen asleep with the pain it would obviously be causing him. Upon closer inspection, she gasped again, nearly falling to her knees when she realized it was her hand. She felt numb inside, not noticing anything Madame Pomfrey said or did as she bustled off. She glanced down at his hand, the one she'd touched, and saw that it was red, irritated. On a mission now, she reached out and pulled open his robes, lifting his shirt, but being careful not to touch his skin. There on his side was another red mark. It was just the size of her hand. She carefully pulled his sleeve down and saw another. Her vision grew blurry again before she realized why.

_I've been burning him. My touch burns him._

A tear fell from her cheek and she watched fearfully as it fell onto his bared stomach. Harry sucked in a breath and his eyes shot wide open. He reached for his stomach where her tear had fallen. It had left a bright red spot that was rapidly darkening. His eyes landed on her and they both froze. She could see so much pain in his unguarded gaze, and it wasn't just from the burns. Even as she watched it seemed to intensify.

"Don't cry. Please, don't cry."

The desperation in his quiet plea only served to make her cry even harder. She wanted to turn and hide her face from him. She wanted to bury her face in his chest, his arms wrapped around her. She did neither, but just stood there, one hand over her mouth, the other clenched into a fist over her stomach. She didn't touch him, but she didn't want him to leave either. And so, they stayed like that for a small eternity. The only motion coming from him as he sat up.

Hermione tried to pull herself together. She took several deep breaths that only turned into sobs before she finally could calm herself. This time she did wipe her tears away. She wanted to be able to see him clearly. They hadn't spent this much time this close together in ages. With one final deep breath she blinked away the last of her tears.

Pulling her sleeve down over her hand to cover her skin, she placed it under his chin and turned his face so she could see the burn better. She wasn't expecting him to remain so still or to gasp at her touch. Jerking her hand away, she looked at his eyes again. This time he wasn't looking at her.

"It hurts even when I cover my skin?"

He seemed to be trying to think something through. He closed his eyes, a humorless smile playing at the corners of his lips. In the moments that followed she could tell he was debating something and for once she didn't try to figure anything out. Finally, he turned his face back to her. He wouldn't look at her, but she could feel, sense that he was both fearful and resigned to whatever was about to happen.

"Could you take a step back, please?"

He spoke calmly, quietly. She hesitated.

"I'm not going anywhere just yet."

Still he didn't look at her face, but she took a tentative step backward. He sat up straight, moving a little farther back on the bed and took a deep breath.

"I cannot and will not explain. Do you understand?"

Her brows drew together in confusion.

"No, but I accept."

She could have sworn he'd almost smiled. Then his face got very serious as he concentrated on her hand. Slowly, he lifted his and reached for her. He hesitated just above her wrist for only a moment before he wrapped his fingers around her sleeve. Immediately, she felt warm pleasure race along her skin. It settled in her stomach for a moment before flying to the rest of her body. It felt amazing and was much stronger than whenever she'd touched him. Opening eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed, she saw him observing her with confusion though he said nothing.

"You don't feel it?" she asked, perplexed.

He took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Something tells me that what I feel and what you feel are two very different things," he said quietly.

His voice sounded a little strained. She looked down at his hand, which had yet to move from her wrist, and panic clutched her heart at the redness of his skin. She cried out, suddenly certain that she was slowly burning him and jerked her wrist away. This time, he didn't let go, but held her tighter.

"I'm hurting you!" she nearly shouted as she tried to pull away again. Still, he would not release her.

"I don't want to hurt you!" she said, her voice desperate as she frantically struggled against him.

"If you don't stop, I'm going to have to grab you with my other hand, too. That will hurt more."

Instantly, she stilled. His voice was so calm. It helped her to calm, though she'd started shaking nonetheless.

"I don't understand, Harry."

"You're not going to, remember?"

He almost sounded playful in his reassurance. She felt him pull her hand up to his face and watched as he had it hover above his burn. He held it there, about an inch away from his skin, and sighed, closing his eyes. She was wearying him and the realization had her heart clenching in her chest. Then he spoke.

"Do you remember at the Burrow, how every morning Mrs. Weasly would sing while she cooked for us– when she wasn't yelling at someone?"

The smile on his face, so sweet and long missing, had her heart turning over. She could hear it in his voice as he continued, so soft and gentle.

"I love it when she sings. It doesn't matter that she's not great at it. It comes from her heart and her happiness and that makes it so beautiful. Do you remember?" he asked, glancing at her face for the first time since he'd first awoken. She couldn't speak, so she just slowly nodded her understanding.

"My favorite time of day is twilight– when the sun's set and the light is fading as the stars come out and the fireflies start their blinking. It's the peace. In those moments with you and Ron at my side, everything feels right. Do you know what I mean?" he asked, looking back up to her again.

Again, she could only nod. Harry never talked like this. He never revealed so much about himself. He got embarrassed and quiet. He certainly didn't volunteer such personal things out of nowhere.

"What about you? Where do you feel safe?" he asked quietly, his eyes trained on hers.

She would never know where she got the courage to say it later, but he'd asked. Where do I feel safe?

"Wherever you are."

She hadn't even thought about it. It just slipped out, but even as he stilled before her, his eyes boring into hers, she couldn't deny the truth of her statement. He had asked and she had answered. His hand reflexively tightened on her wrist and something dark moved through his eyes. Inside, she felt calm and quiet. He knows now, let him do with it what he will.

He lowered his eyes from her to the floor. His shoulders were a strange combination of slumped and tense. He was struggling. She felt his hand loosen on her wrist and began to panic at the idea of him letting her go before he tightened his hold again. She didn't want to think about what the blind panic meant, so she dropped down onto her haunches to bring his face back into view.

"I need a minute," he said quietly, as soon as she was down there.

Desperately, she wanted to heal his hurt. The need was so fierce, she thought she would burst if she didn't do something, anything. Without thinking, she pressed the hand that hovered over his burn to it. Immediately, Harry let out a shocked hiss of breath, his eyes clamping shut. Somehow, it didn't effect her. Instinct had taken over and she moved without thought. Pressing her hand into his burn, she felt her will to heal him manifest into a sensation in her breast, her heart. As soon as she did, she forced it through her arm, her hand, her fingers, into his skin. She heard his gasp, even as she felt his skin begin to mend beneath her touch. There was a faint glow emanating from where their skin made contact. She was healing him. Almost as soon as it had began, it was over. Tentatively, she pulled her hand away, her eyes growing wide at the sight of his cheek. There was still some blood, but it was from before. The burn was completely gone, completely healed.


	6. Catching Up

Chapter 5

Catching Up

Harry watched as Hermione's eyes moved over his cheek, widening in surprise. He could feel warmth, not heat, pulsing through him from where her hand had been. It was the strangest sensation. She felt so good. In this moment there was no pain. He wanted to lose himself in it, to forget everything and just...

"Hermione."

He hadn't meant to say it aloud and he didn't like what he could hear in his own voice.

Suddenly, she was looking at him, really looking at him and– damn him for weak– he couldn't look away.

"I healed you."

_Oh no._

It wasn't what she said, but the frightened, almost frantic way she said it. She had seemed to know exactly what she was doing, but apparently she was just following her gut. Harry knew how frightening it could be to deal with the consequences when following your instincts leads to something extraordinary. She stood up like a shot, causing Harry to nearly lose his grasp on her wrist.

"Easy, Miss Granger. It would not do to panic."

It was Dumbledore. _How had he gotten here, and when? Why?_ His questions must have been plain on his face, for Dumbledore smiled as he gestured to the bed opposite Harry.

"May I?"

"Of course you may, Professor. Please sit," Hermione said, all too quickly. Dumbledore meant information and explanation. That's what always happened around him. It was the very last thing Harry wanted, to explain himself. Judging by the look on Hermione's face, she had come to the same conclusion and felt the exact opposite way.

Great.

The headmaster moved to sit and gestured for Hermione to do the same. Harry realized, looking down, that he was still holding her wrist and was dreading when he would have to relinquish it. Hoping that maybe no one would notice, his heart dropped when he saw Dumbledore's gaze riveted to his own. Why did Dumbledore always see through him? The wearied look on his face told Harry that what was about to happen was not going to be particularly pleasant.

"I find myself in a bit of a dilemma at present. Perhaps you can help me decide what is best. You see, it has come to my attention that periodically throughout the castle there have been heat surges. The house elves' magic is affected when it happens– apparently, 'flickering' as they tell me. They find it most distressing. Coincidentally, I seem to get a report from one of the professors for right about the same time these strange surges take place of late. The reports unfailingly center around the two of you. The most recent examples being today during two of your classes. Sure enough, I have two reports on my desk, one from Professor McGonagall and one from Professor Snape. Something tells me these occurrences cannot be unrelated.

"I would have liked to speak with you earlier about this Harry, but was preoccupied with finding out where you've been for the past several weeks. Imagine my surprise upon entering your dormitory and finding your space inexplicably empty. It was apparent at first glance that you hadn't been there at all for some time. Further investigation led me to the conclusion that you've become something of a recluse."

Harry could feel Hermione's surprise that he hadn't been in Gryffindor tower in ages, but currently he was more concerned with how much trouble he was in.

"As there are more pressing matters at hand, pardon the pun, I would like to get straight to it. I wanted to speak with both of you about what's been going on. Based on what I've just witnessed and what I have heard from others, I have the feeling that should I ask my questions now I would not get the whole truth. However, should I endeavor to speak with you individually, you would have to let go of each other," he said as his eyes moved to their joined hands. "And I fear therein lies the dilemma."

_How was he always right? Did he ever tire of it, knowing everything?_ Harry's eyes followed Dumbledore's toward their hands and was surprised to see that he no longer held her wrist, but her hand with their fingers webbed together. He hadn't even noticed that happen.

"So why don't we begin with what will happen should you let go?" Dumbledore asked, arching his eyebrows in friendly inquiry.

Harry sighed. He didn't want to answer these questions. In fact, right now was the biggest reason he'd fled her. He didn't want people to know. He didn't want her to know. Dumbledore wasn't actually giving him a choice in this. However, before he had fully resigned himself to his fate, Hermione spoke up first, using her left hand to gesture as Harry held her right.

"When I touch him, warmth tingles up my fingers and into my hand. Sometimes it makes its way up my arm. At first it was strange, but," she hesitated, staring directly at Dumbledore. Harry could tell by the feel of her hand in his that she was reluctant to say this with him present. He knew how she felt. It seemed like she wanted to look at him, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She started to blush, but pushed on anyway.

"Well, after the first time, the tingling didn't go away for a while and it was sort of a constant reminder that he isn't around anymore. It just made me sad and I kept rubbing my hand on my skirt or waving it in the air, but nothing made the sensation go away. It finally did fade, but as soon as I got near him again it was like an itch in my fingers. Without realizing it, I kept trying to touch him. It was like magnetism. I was attracted to him– e-er, er like I needed to be near him– I mean physically. Oh, this isn't coming out right at all."

"Attracted to me are you," he said, with a playful smirk and a soft squeeze of her hand. He couldn't resist teasing her when she made it so easy. It was easier than really thinking about her physically needing to be near him. Also, if he put her on the defensive, he stood a better chance of hiding his reactions. He didn't need them knowing how much that idea toyed with him.

"I suppose you're pleased with yourself," she said, her eyes flying to his. He was surprised to see not just embarrassment, but both hurt and anger as well. "Even if I was in the way you imply, you've done nothing to encourage, let alone deserve it!"

Harry felt the smile fall off his face as guilt slammed hard and fast into his heart. He flinched and looked away from her, but not fast enough, for he saw in her eyes the realization that she had hit her mark. He could feel her soften next to him, which was the last thing he needed.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have–"

"No," he replied curtly, all emotion gone from his voice. "You're right. Don't worry about it."

"No," she said, her voice proving him right. She was all softness and warmth. He wanted to hold her. He wanted strangle her. "I shouldn't have said that, especially not the way I did. It's just that, well, I guess I'm bitter. You didn't even seem to care that you were hurting me so badly. Then to joke about it... I guess it just made me angry."

"I care Hermione," he replied, sighing and covering his eyes with his hand. He stopped there, not wanting to give anything away._ I care more than you know, more than I want to. I care far too much._

"Then will you tell me why you've been running from me? I know it's not just because of the burns."

When he remained stubbornly silent, he could tell she wanted to press further. Harry had completely forgotten about Dumbledore. Turning toward him, Hermione put her free hand on his knee. To his surprise, the warmth rushed through again, this time faster and more potent. There was no pain, only intensity. Looking at her, he found her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, like she was swept away to another place. It disturbed him more than a little to see such a look on her face, put there simply by touching him. Slowly, her eyes opened and she blushed when she saw his intent gaze fastened to her face.

"Don't you feel it?" she asked, barely whispering.

The heat was intense but bearable, and there was a softness to the warmth that lingered as her hand did. Though he could concede that he'd been affected somewhat pleasantly for once, she seemed to feel it differently. He repeated the words he'd told her earlier.

"I think what I feel and what you feel are two very different things."

Her eyes moved to her hand resting on his leg and then back up to him.

"Does it hurt?"

She looked like she'd break if he said yes.

"No," he admitted reluctantly "It's wasn't as bad as the other times."

He couldn't bring himself to tell her it was soothing. She nodded, but it was obvious she didn't understand. Neither said anything for another moment, then he suddenly knew that if he didn't do something she would pull away. Before she got the chance, he slammed his free hand down on hers to keep it in place.

"No!"

They were both surprised by his reaction. Harry knew he should let her go, that it would hurt more the longer he held her there, but couldn't bring himself to face the pain. Not yet. Hermione was looking at him, staring into his eyes like she could read his every thought. Feeling unnerved, he looked away.

"It doesn't hurt until I let go, does it?"

He could hear the dawning comprehension in her voice. He shook his head, still staring at his feet.

"Then I won't let go."

She was so serious, as if that would solve all their problems. Harry couldn't help but laugh. Unfortunately, it wasn't a very happy sound, but rather part ironic humor, part despair.

"And how exactly are we going to do that? We'll just hold hands forever? That'll work out splendidly. Tell me, when you want to shower, should I stand outside the curtain or just come in with you and close my eyes?" Sarcasm fairly dripped from his words as disgust crossed the features of his face. She couldn't know that it was toward himself and not her.

"Well excuse me for not wanting to hurt you," she replied heatedly.

Harry would have responded had a chuckling to his right not distracted him. Both he and Hermione spun toward it to find Dumbledore watching them with amusement shining in his eyes.

"Take care or you'll soon sound like an old married couple," he said.

At their stunned silence he merely chuckled again.

"So let me get this straight," he said, moving back toward the serious. "You, Hermione, feel physical pleasure when you touch Harry and your body seems to be addicted to it. Am I right?"

Blushing scarlet at his choice of phrasing, Hermione nodded hesitantly. Though Harry would never admit it, something deep inside him that was completely male and completely possessive absolutely loved the idea. He had to fight to keep his face blank.

"When you let go what do you feel?"

"Well, at first, I just got frustrated and disappointed. I felt like I needed to touch him," she said, again steadfastly ignoring Harry's presence. He supposed it made it easier for her to confess everything. "Then today it changed. We haven't been talking or really spent any time together lately and today we had to sit together in Potions. I already touched him in Transfiguration, so my whole arm was tingly by Potions, which was strange, actually, since it never lasts that long. Anyway, I accidentally touched him again when we were taking notes and that's when..."

Harry could feel her shoot a glance at him. He just sat there with his eyes closed, trying to control his breathing and focusing on having her close while he could.

"That's when what?" Dumbledore prodded.

"Well... I sort of got, well really frustrated, and decided that since he could torture me without trying, I decided I might as well stop fighting my instincts and touch him whether he liked it or not," she said.

Each word came out faster than the last, until the end when it was all slurred together. She winced when she finished, as though expecting an explosion. When Harry finally realized what she'd said, he had to force himself not to crush her hand as his livid gaze shot to her frightened one.

"Torture you without trying? You don't even know the beginning of how ironic that statement is! For once Hermione, you prove yourself ignorant. You–"

"What happened then, Hermione?" Dumbledore cut in, before Harry could hurt her more– and he was sorely tempted. However, he didn't want to reveal anymore of himself, so silence was better just then anyway. He turned away, fuming, and if he hadn't been so afraid of the consequences, he'd have dropped her hand and started pacing. He hated sitting still when he felt so agitated.

"Er, well, I stopped caring about avoiding him and ended up bumping into him, then I purposefully touched his hand when I could have just told him to slow down, and then I touched his side– but that wasn't intentional; it just sort of happened. Somewhere in there it started to change when he pulled away from me. Now it hurts. I get hot and cold and I feel..."

She hesitated. Harry turned back to her, intrigued to hear some of his own existence described in her words. Her eyes were unfocused, reliving moments in the past.

"What do you feel Hermione?" he asked softly at her hesitation.

"I don't want to say."

"It could be important..."

She sat silently staring at her feet.

"Hermione?"

"Lonely," she whispered, as making it harder to hear would make it less difficult to say. Her eyes closed and it was like she spoke from far away. "I feel lonely and I miss him more than ever. There's an ache right here," she said, briefly pulling their joined hands up to rest over her heart. "It's like my heart is broken– not that that's surprising, since he's gone."

At the word 'he's' she softly kicked Harry's foot and with that fell silent.

"I see. Thank you, Hermione. It was brave of you to confide in me with Harry still present. And you, Harry? You feel pain when she touches you, or rather when she releases you?"

Harry knew what she was talking about better than she did. She had finally started to feel the pain when they touched, but the aching loneliness is what captured his attention. He felt that because he was in love with her and couldn't be with her. If she felt it, what did that mean? Unable to correct Dumbledore and uncomfortable with not answering him Harry shook his head no with a mumbled 'Sort of. Not exactly'.

"Would you like me to have you release her so you can explain it to me in private?"

The words, uttered so logically and inconsequentially, caused Harry's heart to beat faster and fear to widen his eyes even as anger puckered his eyebrows. She knew enough– too much really and he was done with this conversation. He needed to think things through, far away from her, where she wasn't clouding his mind and senses. Without trying, she had struck him a blow she couldn't even begin to imagine. He would have to let go of her. He could do it...

_I can..._

On three...

_One..._

_Two..._

Harry jumped up from the bed with the intention of putting plenty of distance between himself and his tormentor, but he didn't get far. He stood perfectly still, robbed of his will to move as the hot-cold pain wracked through him, his heart fluttering wildly as the ache robbed it of its strength. Gasping for breath, he staggered sideways as a particularly vicious wave washed over him. Vaguely, he could hear sounds behind him to his left, but the roaring in his ears made it indistinguishable. He felt dizzy and lightheaded and as blackness flickered over his eyes he wondered if he would faint.

Suddenly, Dumbledore was before him, his hands on Harry's arms, holding him up with surprising strength.

"Harry! Harry, can you hear me?"

Feeling drunk and drained, Harry let his head roll back to look at the older man. All amusement had vanished from his eyes, replaced with an intensity Harry rarely saw from him.

"She's killing me."

The words, barely uttered– so irregular was his breathing, were a plea for understanding. He needed Dumbledore to comprehend the gravity of the pain. Each time it got worse, but Harry could actually feel something inside himself weakening, shriveling, dying. Reassured by the knowledge that Dumbledore knew, Harry allowed the last vestiges of his ever weakening strength to be consumed and gave himself over to the welcoming darkness.

* * *

Hermione sat motionless, her eyes trained on Harry's face as he shook his head.

"Sort of. Not exactly."

The barely mumbled words made sense, but she wanted, needed to know. Praying he would answer openly and honestly as she had, she remained still and silent as Dumbledore gently prodded again.

"Would you like me to have you release her so you can explain it to me in private?"

The longer Harry refrained from answering, the more Hermione felt panicked. What if he did choose to leave? She desperately wanted him to stay. She hadn't known this type of desperation for information in... well, maybe ever. Her hopes proved futile and the realization came quickly, both painful and abrupt.

One moment she sat next to him, one hand on his leg, her other webbed with his. The next, he had released her and in the process let loose a cacophony of sensation that set a course for instant devastation. There was scorching heat and shattering cold, mingling together in some strange fusion taking the worst of each and shooting it through her, body and soul. Beneath the physical pain was a loneliness unbearable. It was as though a part of herself had died and she was to mourn it. When she finally caught her breath, sobs began to wrack her small frame as tears flowed down her cheeks and an ache so acute she thought she might die from it squeezed her heart and chest. Staring through watery eyes, she could barely make out the form of Dumbledore who was moving forward to catch Harry as he stumbled. She heard him call for Harry, but couldn't make out his words through the sound of her own sobs. Shaking her head she looked again, straining to hear what Harry would say.

"She's killing me."

She cried out as the impact of those few words rent her heart and tore at something deeper, something vital and hidden. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, but watched helplessly as Dumbledore lay Harry on the bed and called out for someone. He checked him over quickly and Hermione wanted to ask if he was okay, but the attempt only made her situation worse.

"Easy Hermione," he said, glancing over at her. "I need you to stay with me here. You can do that, can't you?"

He moved beside her as Madame Pomfrey approached to tend Harry. It was obvious she was more concerned with Hermione, but Dumbledore placed the tip of his wand to the center of her chest and instantly she felt some of the tightness that was squeezing her lungs release. However, her heart was still painfully out of kilter. At least she could breathe, which is all she could focus on in that moment.

"Good girl, in... and out. That's right. Good, Hermione. Good."

He placed two fingers under the line of her jaw and felt the irregularity of her pulse. He did not frown or scowl, but still she could sense his displeasure. Moving to her hands, he lifted and held them in the air before him. She was shaking like a leaf.

"I'll fetch something to calm her nerves."

"Thank you, Poppy. I think that would be best," Dumbledore said as he looked Hermione in the eye. "Do you think you can speak now?"

Taking deep, steady breaths, Hermione nodded.

"What happened? Can you describe it?"

"I don't know. I hurt, everywhere, so much. If this is what he's been feeling, I can't even imagine."

"What happened, Hermione?"

His voice sounded more insistent this time and she suddenly felt so tired. Looking up into his concerned face, she did her best to find the words.

"When he let go, I felt so much all at once... There was cold, like the lake in winter. And it was deep in my bones. But it was hot too. Like fire burning my skin. I don't know if I was so hot I was cold, or if I was so cold I was hot... Then there was my chest," she said, unconsciously rubbing her hand over her heart. Tears streamed anew as she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "I still feel it, the ache. My heart is breaking and it hurts so much. I feel all alone. It's worse than dementors. I- I don't- don't know wh-what to do. I need him. He makes it go away."

When her breathing grew erratic again, Dumbledore had her lay back on the bed just as Madame Pomfrey arrived with the potion. Drinking it gratefully, Hermione closed her eyes as her shaking calmed. She didn't notice when she curled into a ball, the hand that had held Harry's pressed tightly against her heart in a small fist. Nor did she think anything of crying herself to sleep. After all, she'd been doing it for weeks.


	7. Merging

Chapter 6

Merging

Harry felt more refreshed and alive than he had in ages. He didn't feel like he hadn't slept at all. He didn't feel weak or sick or depressed. All he could feel was an overwhelming contentment. There was the soft warmth of sunshine on his face. He was surrounded by softness and comfort. But best of all, he held Hermione in his arms.

Deep down Harry knew he was sleeping. He knew that when he opened his eyes it would only be a pillow. He would actually be exhausted, sick, and even more depressed. But for now there was only his dream and he held onto it greedily.

Breathing deeply, he buried his face in her hair and let the sweet scent wash over him. He marveled at the feel of its silkiness against his skin. Nuzzling deeper, his lips found the soft skin of her neck and he lay a gentle kiss there. How he loved dreams! Of course, it didn't occur to Harry that this was the most elaborate and realistic dream he'd had to date. So when he heard a sleepy sound come from Hermione and felt her move in his arms he was shocked beyond reason. Eyes shooting wide, he couldn't believe what he saw.

She was here.

It was real.

Harry froze, wanting to run away and wanting to crush her to him equally. He watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, still unsure of what he should do and still in shock as to what exactly was going on. Tearing his eyes away, he lifted his head to look around. Judging by the curtain around the bed, they hadn't left the Hospital Wing. But how and why were they together this way?

As his eyes returned to settle on her face once more, a strange sense of peace swept through him. Temporarily forgetting about everything else, he lay his head back down, this time just far enough away so that he could watch her. Her breath was slow and deep. He had time before she would wake up. And so, Harry lay in their sun sprinkled haven for an undeterminable length of time. In the soft, comfortable bed with sunlight gently warming the blankets and the cheeks of those who hid from the outside world, Harry felt time become irrelevant.

His eyes swept over her soft frame, drinking in every detail. He wanted to burn this moment into his memory, never to be forgotten– no matter what kind of emotions it stirred in him tomorrow. She lay partially on her side facing him. The soft waves of her hair– adorably rumpled from sleep– fanned out behind her. Her face lost all the signs of worry and sadness that had so recently become commonplace. There was an innocence that was hidden during her waking hours by the worry and the grief. He watched the rise and fall of her breathing. He counted the soft freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and marveled at the way her eyelashes looked against them. She was serenity incarnate.

All that was left of their physical contact was a hand that lay resting on her hip. It drew his eye and he couldn't help but note the underlying possessiveness of such a gesture. Satisfaction filled him and as it did so, he realized that it brought him actual joy to be here, to wake like this. Warm pleasure spread through his chest. It was at that moment that a strange urge came over him. What would happen if he let go, if he stopped touching her? Without thought he gave in and pulled his hand away. He didn't know why this seemed important, but suddenly it did.

Harry's hand had barely moved when a frown stole over Hermione's face. He froze, not even daring to breathe as the lines deepened and a soft sound of distress slipped past her lips. He immediately regretted his decision. Still asleep, she reached out and found his chest– a chest he was shocked to realize was bare. Her hands pressed flat against him. It was then that Harry noticed the complete lack of pain. Though he wore no shirt, her fingers only spread a warm breeze across his skin. It strayed no farther than where she actually touched him. He watched in fascination as her face relaxed, the barest hint of a smile on her lips. With a soft sigh, she pulled herself close again, not satisfied until every inch of her was pressed against some part of him. Even then she seemed to be trying to bury herself inside him and became frustrated by his lack of compliance. She grew distressed again and when he heard a muffled whimper, the urge to comfort and protect her was overwhelming, shocking in its intensity. Instinctively, he wrapped her in his arms, applying gentle pressure with one hand between her shoulders and the other on her lower back. There was absolutely no space left between them.

Immediately, she stilled. Her sigh was unmistakably one of contentment. In the comfort of his arms, she grew soft and pliant. Harry could feel her breath evening out as it feathered against his neck and along his collarbone. When he bent down and kissed the top of her head a sound of pure pleasure rose up from her throat, sounding almost like an 'mmmmm'. It was very nearly a purr and all Harry could do was let out a shaky laugh. It wasn't difficult to hear the slight note of hysteria in it.

That was when Harry's peace faded. Panic rose in his throat, nearly choking him. He lay perfectly still, hoping against hope that Hermione didn't wake up before he could figure something out. But try as he might, his mind was too befuddled by her nearness to think clearly. He'd never felt so torn. On the one hand there was a deep fear and foreboding. He knew from experience that this was the height of folly and that he would pay the price soon. However, on the other hand, he couldn't make himself move. He commanded his muscles to release her, but they stubbornly refused. And truthfully, he was glad. He didn't want to let her go. He wanted to hold her like this forever. He wanted to wake up every morning in just this way. He wanted to fall asleep holding her. He wanted the right to pull her close like this anytime he felt the desire. Yet he knew it could not be so, and the beginnings of the pain that was to come took root in his chest. It was in this state that Dumbledore found him as he carefully and quietly entered through the curtain on Hermione's side of the bed. Harry shot him a look of barely controlled panic.

"Good morning, Harry. I trust you slept well?"

Without answering, Harry's eyes shot to Hermione. Dumbledore's voice was too loud and if he continued Hermione would wake up. That couldn't happen. Not like this. She stirred a little, but settled back within moments. When his eyes returned to Dumbledore's face the latter's expression was unreadable.

"She has to wake up sometime, Harry."

At least he had lowered his voice. Still, Harry didn't like the note of cool disapproval he heard in it.

"I don't have to be here when that happens," he whispered in response.

"Do you think that's fair?"

That particular question had come to mean nearly nothing to Harry during the past few months; it had meant so little to him before. Life was not fair. You do the best you can and deal with what's left. He couldn't remember when exactly that had become his motto. He thought maybe it was around the time he'd first walked in on Ron and Hermione snogging at the Burrow– and on _his_ bed. Yeah, that was it. What did it matter anyway? He didn't want to see what would happen when she woke up. Unfortunately for Harry, it was too late. He barely registered that Dumbledore was mumbling something under his breath, before he felt Hermione stretch in his arms, the movement somehow pressing her against him even more.

She froze. Harry did too in reaction. He didn't even breathe. His heart was racing as she slowly leaned forward until the tip of her nose nearly touched the skin of his throat. She inhaled deeply. He knew what she was doing and could feel the sweat break out on his body. She made that noise again, the almost-purr that drove him crazy in too many ways to contemplate. He could feel her press a smile against his shoulder and slammed his eyes tight shut when she slipped her arms around him. He gasped as he felt her lips on the hollow at the base of his neck. Reflexively, he moved his face to hers so that his cheek was pressed against her temple. When he spoke it was a ragged whisper.

"Hermione."

It was a plea. For what he wasn't sure. All he knew was that she needed to be awake. She needed to not do what she was doing. Awake had seemed bad, but apparently the in-between stage was far, far worse.

"Hermione, you need to wake up."

He was desperate now. She only clung to him tighter.

"No."

He hadn't expected a refusal any more than he'd expected the petulance in her voice. It was difficult to swallow and he didn't dare open his eyes yet.

"If I wake up, you'll leave," she said. She was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. "I don't want you to leave. If I don't wake up, you don't leave. So I refuse to wake up, sophistry or not."

Harry briefly wondered what sophistry meant, as the sound of Dumbledore's quiet chuckling floated to him from somewhere near the foot of the bed. Then Hermione nuzzled against his neck and he decided it didn't matter. Placing one hand on each side of her face, he gently but forcefully pushed her back. She remained utterly motionless as Harry was sure the realization that they were both awake dawned in her mind.

"Harry?"

At least she sounded coherent. Though her eyes remained shut, she had gone rather pale.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously.

She flinched when he spoke. When she spoke again her voice sounded strangled.

"I'm not sleeping, am I?"

Pity shook him. He couldn't imagine what he would have done if she'd been awake to witness his reaction when he'd woken up. He sighed. Ignoring the very large part of him that advised against this, he leaned his forehead against hers without moving his hands from her cheeks. She was too perfect. Her vulnerability pulled him where he'd been able to avoid her warmth and affection. He knew that this changed a lot of things, but at the same time it changed nothing. In this moment she wanted him, and that was enough to break the iron lock of his will. He opened his eyes and waited until she had too.

"No, you're not sleeping."

She let out a shaky sigh.

"But you're still here."

It sounded like a question. The confusion in her eyes confirmed it.

"Yes."

They stared at each other for an extended moment, neither particularly willing to move past this point. You see, questions came next, which meant answers would be necessary and answers were something that neither of them had. Though Harry watched her eyes, listened to her breathing, smelled her scent, his mind was rather far away, in a land where this was allowed and not betrayal. So when she spoke, her words took him off guard.

"I've missed you."

There was a painful twist in his heart as his mind refocused on the here and now. He was speaking before he realized it, though he'd not intended to.

"You'll never know how much I've missed you."

His words shocked him, but as he watched her eyes widened and began to glisten. He knew he'd shocked her more.

"I don't understand."

He felt her hand on his cheek and closed his eyes in pleasure, turning toward the gentle touch of her palm. What was wrong with him? Had he gone completely mad? His self-control had all but evaporated and for one fleeting moment he felt that maybe there was more to it than that. Then he felt her breath against his lips and his eyes flew open. She had moved just close enough. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable. She didn't understand what was happening; that much was clear. But where that sent him into a panic, it made things simpler for her. Her eyes were locked on his, warning him of her actions. Even so he was still blind sided when she moved that little bit closer and pressed her lips to his.

Nothing could have prepared them for what happened next.

The carefully cultivated barriers and walls that had kept Harry in check for so long shattered into a thousand infinitesimal pieces. He'd been right about his self-control. 'It snapped' would have been the understatement of the century. His blood boiled in his veins as his heart beat a tattoo against his ribs. Swiftly, he pressed her to her back and suddenly he was on top of her, his hands bracing him against the mattress, his weight pressing her into the bed. Her gasp of surprise was not one of displeasure. Of that he was certain. And so, Harry kissed her senseless. He hadn't even known he could kiss like this. It was all instinct and reaction. He was completely beyond thought at this point. He explored her and reveled in it. The taste of her, the feel of her was intoxicating. Shifting his weight slightly, he was able to free a hand and made use of it by slipping it behind her, cradling her head at just the right angle. Pushed to his limit though he was, apparently she would always find a way to push him past it. For at that moment the almost-purr escaped from her throat, taking the sound of his name as she breathed it against his lips.

Harry exploded.

There was no other word for what happened then. The fire was back with a vengeance. His skin literally burst into flames that danced and sputtered around him, on him. But this was infinitely different than any other fire Harry had ever experienced. It was him in the flames. He could feel them as an extension of himself. They did not burn him, or Hermione for that matter. There was no pain, only emotions. They soared, enveloping Hermione, the bed and anything else that had been nearby. Harry could feel them pulsing with the racing beat of his heart. Though there was no sound, something called to him. He looked down at Hermione's face just in time for her to open her eyes. He watched as it all seemed to fall into place and suddenly a new light shone and he knew there was no turning back.

* * *

I can smell him.

Hermione leaned forward until she could feel the heat coming off his skin and breathed deeply. It was the perfect scent. He smelled of comfort and warmth, of strength and security. She heard herself practically hum with the pleasure of it. She loved the way he smelled.

Hermione had never dreamed of waking up in his arms. Usually, she dreamed of other little moments– nothing important, just time together. It's what she wanted most from him. But now that she was experiencing it, she had to admit this was by far her favorite dream and she was going to take full advantage of it. She smothered a smile against his shoulder. If he ever knew what she was thinking...

Pushing that thought aside, she wrapped her arms around him. In her dreams, Harry would want to be near her as she wanted to be near him. As her lungs were filled with air that was scented so wonderfully of him, a wicked thought entered her head. She wondered how he would react if she kissed his neck. Well, it was her dream after all. Why not? So she did it. Her lips found the hollow at the base of his throat and lingered for just a moment. His gasp sent a thrill through her. She felt his cheek press against her temple. His breathing was ragged. Oh yes, she liked this dream very much.

"Hermione."

Her bones turned soft. His voice, so quiet and so filled with longing as it wrapped around her name, made her melt.

"Hermione, you need to wake up."

He was practically pleading with her. If she woke up her dream would end and he would be gone. Even in her dreams he wanted to leave her. She frowned and tightened her arms around him. Why didn't he want to be near her? How could he not feel it too? She felt a little stab of pain in her heart.

"No. If I wake up you'll leave," she sleep-mumbled. She would not do it. She'd sleep forever if she had to. She didn't care that that made no sense. "I don't want you to leave. If I don't wake up, you don't leave. So I refuse to wake up, sophistry or not."

He didn't say anything, so Hermione decided the matter was resolved and went about getting closer to that scent again. How could his neck smell so good? Then he moved his hands to her face and gently pushed her back. Something in the way he did it, the feel of his hands on her cheeks, the barley reined in control, sent a chill of apprehension down her spine. Suddenly, she was absolutely certain that this wasn't a dream. She froze.

"Harry?"

She willed him with everything she had not to answer. If he answered...

"Yes?"

She flinched. He was here. This wasn't a dream. He had seen, had felt everything she'd done. She felt sick.

"I'm not sleeping, am I?"

He sighed and then his forehead was resting on hers. Her heart gave a painful lurch. She was awake, right? After a long moment of silence she opened her eyes to find his waiting. They looked so dark right now.

"No, you're not sleeping."

His voice was very soft, as soft as his eyes. He felt conflicted, she could tell, but the tenderness she saw in them warmed her to her core. This wasn't a dream...

"But you're still here."

And touching her– everywhere. There was very little space to be found anywhere between them.

"Yes."

They were quiet for a moment as he seemed to be giving her a chance for it to sink in. Though very confused, she couldn't help but be grateful. He was here. He was touching her– which felt divine. She felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

"I've missed you."

"You'll never know how much I've missed you."

She was taken aback by the intensity, the heartfelt sincerity that shown from his eyes, could be heard in his voice. He had missed her terribly. Her nose stung and her eyes started to water. But why then?

"I don't understand."

She cupped his cheek. Really she just wanted to touch him more, to touch his face. She hadn't been close enough to in ages– not that she would have before. But the oddest things seemed to call to her now.

His reaction surprised her again. His eyes fell shut and he pressed against her hand. He seemed to love the feel of her. Her clever mind– which hadn't seemed to be working well at all lately– started to put two and two together. Before the inclinations could fully form into rational thoughts, she found herself jumping to reckless ones. What would he do if she kissed him? She came within an inch and hesitated as his eyes flew wide. He stared at her with a thousand feelings in his eyes. She had no way of knowing which one would win, but she hoped that maybe... She watched him for reaction as she closed that last little bit and when he didn't stop her, she pressed her lips to his.

Harry went berserk.

Faster than anything she was on her back with him settled on top of her. He was heavy, but he certainly didn't hurt her. She reveled in the feel of him. And he didn't just kiss her. It was more like he was trying to fuse them together. She had no idea that he was so good at kissing. He'd only ever kissed Cho. Hadn't he? It didn't matter. Soon all thought was banished by his inexplicable ardor. He would change the way he kissed her constantly, so she didn't know what to expect. He nipped at her bottom lip and then explored her when she gasped. At some point his hand ended up cradling her head just so. It made them fit together perfectly. If he hadn't been so commanding, she thought she'd have swooned by this point.

Her whole body seemed to react. If her bones had melted before, they were puddles by now. Her skin burned with the heat of her fevered blood and she still couldn't get close enough to him. Her hands pressed against his back in a futile attempt to pull him nearer. She wrapped a leg around one of his, arching her back. It didn't seem possible that she could want more, but she did. She wanted all of him, everything. Though no less urgent, his kiss became almost lazy. As a shudder of pure pleasure slid down her spine and spread through her whole body, every muscle seemed to relax. He was like a drug, affecting her in whatever way he willed. She felt so amazing; her whole body lit from the inside out. She heard herself nearly moan. Never in her life had she made the noises he drew from her. He was just so...

"Harry."

She barely heard his gasp. Suddenly, there was heat everywhere. But she couldn't focus on that, because it was like Harry was everywhere. It was what she'd been striving for, she realized. It was why he hadn't been close enough even when she was crushed against him. She opened her eyes to see flames. He was still above her staring down into her face. The fire was coming from him, she realized. It was him, what was inside him. There was so much to be taken in. Her mind reeled from the onslaught.

Then something just seemed to click inside, simply fell into place and suddenly there was light. It shone so brightly. It should have been blinding, but she could see everything. It was so different. The world was filled with light and shadow, but it had nothing to do with fire or sunshine. She was shocked she could see anything beyond Harry. He was so bright it almost hurt to look at him. Almost. He had moved back, but only barely. It seemed like he had intended to move, but something had stopped him.

They called each other's names in the same moment. Their voices mingling and echoing against each other, sounding otherworldly. She knew with everything inside her that something huge had happened, was still happening. But it wasn't finished yet. Her heart flared at the sudden certainty that if she didn't finish this now, she may not get another chance.

Harry still knelt above her. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she did not allow herself to be distracted by the pleasure of the flames against her skin. His eyes were questioning as she pulled herself up to kneel before him. Twining her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, she pulled his mouth to hers once more. With her lips hovering over his, just barely touching, she whispered her words against him.

"Tell me."

His response was a choked whisper.

"I love you."

No one would ever know the effect those whispered words had on Hermione. In that moment he released himself to her and she was flooded with awareness, of him, of his struggle, of the things he'd gone through. He loved her, but he fought it, punishing himself and trying to protect her– because he thought that was right, because he thought to love her was wrong. Her heart swelled until she was sure her chest could no longer contain her joy. She could feel energy radiating from her skin.

He loved her!

The light that had shone before flashed with an intensity that should have blinded her, but she didn't care. Through the flash of the light her lips met Harry's and the roar of the flames deafened her to all else. The room shook around them, the bed beneath.

He loved her!

She felt powerful and strong, and the light grew around her. It was so bright and so beautiful. It only increased her joy, until finally she just burst. The light went everywhere, surrounding, spreading, claiming them, and merging with the flames– Harry's flames.

There was an earth shattering explosion that seemed to rock the very foundations of the world, but there with Harry, bathed in the beauty of the flames and the light, nothing else mattered. Truly, the light was beyond beautiful, but nowhere near as blissful as what seemed to be happening because of it. Through the heat and the rush she was complete. She was complete in a way that she _knew_ no other human being had ever achieved before. Harry was one with her, even if only for a moment. They met and merged in the fire and the light, where their spirits danced to the tune of a song so ancient no one had heard it in recorded history. When it was over, they floated back into their bodies, no longer two separate people, but two people joined in a bond older than time.

* * *

Harry looked on as Hermione opened her eyes. There was no confusion there, only complexity. Even as he watched the complexity vanished faster than a puff of smoke and was replaced by something else entirely. At first he just thought her emotions were changing, but as her eyes grew brighter and brighter, he realized they were actually giving off light. And it was a beautiful light. He stared, dumbfounded, as the light grew to a nearly blinding brilliance and was shocked when his eyes managed to focus around it. She was stunning. How was it shining from her eyes? He called her name at the same moment she called his. They sounded strange, like the chords of a song blending together in a perfect harmony.

He hovered over her, all thoughts of moving gone from his mind, when she moved to sit up. He hesitated a moment, not wanting to release her. Then her hands were on his shoulders and he felt the fire respond, gently lapping around her fingers. He felt like he was caressing her, but more distracting still, he could tell she liked it. Then she was kneeling before him and all coherent thought was banished as she came to him yet again. His breath froze in his chest as she slid her hands along his shoulders and into the hair at the back of his neck. He shuddered at the touch. So did the flames. She was exquisite. Then her mesmerizing eyes were locked on his as she pulled him down to her mouth again. The fire around them raged as his heart beat frantically in his chest. Her lips were just a whisper away from him when whisper she did.

"Tell me."

It wasn't a plea, but a command. The light from her eyes shimmered into his and he found himself utterly at her mercy. In that moment, he would have given her anything. Whatever was happening to them was changing the rules of their relationship. He knew without knowing exactly what she wanted and suddenly he was only too glad to give it to her, to share this burden he'd carried alone for so very long.

"I love you."

Harry couldn't fight it anymore. He wasn't strong enough to fight both his desire and hers. And so in that moment he felt the last of his defenses die and gave over to the flames what was left of him. He could feel that radiant light spread from her eyes to her skin. She glowed all over, but before he could even register the change, the light flashed from her. It shot out in all directions. And again Harry was distracted as finally her sweet lips found him and suddenly nothing else mattered. He felt the room begin to shake. He felt the light grow more potent. He felt it reach for the fire. It danced and played with the flames, even as they seemed to wait for something else. Harry felt it too, the anticipation. He knew they were almost there, though he didn't know what there was until Hermione finally reached it. When his arms came around her, crushing her against him she exploded too, just as he had. Her light shattered into a thousand splintered fragments that caught the flames and held as they soared together, feasting on each other.

Harry felt the universe tremble.

It was beyond imagining, this coming together of light and fire– of her light and his fire. Here in this moment, there was no world. There were no people, no problems. There was nothing between them. Just as the light joined the fire, so too did Hermione join Harry. In that moment there was an eternity, an eternity in which she and he were one, never to be separated. It was a merging. Both of them physically remained stationary, but spiritually left themselves and collided in the brilliant flames. For that moment, all was light, all was music, was soft, strong, comforting, and protecting. Everything came together in a majestic array of color and sound. In that moment pain, fear, worry, heartache, they were all forgotten in the sheer wonder of it.


	8. Coming Clean

Chapter 7

Coming Clean

"Albus..."

Dumbledore turned to see Professor McGonagall approaching him through the ruins of the Hospital Wing. The numb shock on her face was testament enough to how bad the sight she looked upon truly was. He turned back toward the wreckage. He just couldn't believe it. Not even he, with all he'd seen and known, had expected this.

"What happened?"

He took a deep breath and pointed toward the end of the room. There, beneath the giant hole where a large chunk of the eastern wall and part of the ceiling used to be, surrounded by endless amounts of rubble and debris, lay two bodies beneath a single white sheet. They clung to each other, sleeping soundly. He didn't dare move them. As he'd suspected they only needed each other. He only wished he knew the nature of that need. As Minerva drew up beside him, he heard her gasp.

"Is that..."

"That is Harry and Hermione, and they are the cause of all of this," he said, his hand gesturing to the wreckage around them.

"Are they alright?"

She turned her eyes on him. He couldn't manage a smile to reassure her.

"Oh yes, they are just fine, so long as we don't remove them from one another."

She only looked relieved for a second. For then her eyes traveled around the room, taking everything in. The beds and curtains closest to the door behind her were charred and crumbling. The closer to the sleeping couple's corner, the worse it got until there was nothing left but incinerated dust within the rubble. There were no more tapestries on the walls and the glass from the windows had shattered then melted. Everything was destroyed.

"But...," she searched his face once more. "How?"

* * *

When Harry opened his eyes all he saw was blackness. Judging by the stiffness of his muscles, he hadn't moved in a long time. He lay there in the dark silence and wondered if he'd died, if the pain really had killed him and the rest had all been some sort of dying man's dream. How else could he explain Hermione being as much in love with him as he was with her? He closed his eyes again as a familiar heaviness entered his chest. Despair had become his constant companion. It only made sense that here, in this dark, empty place it would return to him.  
Then he heard her make a noise in her sleep.

It was a soft sound, a whisper, but he heard it as though she'd shouted. He turned his head in that direction, off to his right somewhere, and screwed up his eyes. Slowly, very slowly, she came into focus, like moonlight fighting through dense clouds. The sight of her took his breath away.

She was wearing white. Surrounded by the white of the bed, she looked like an angel. Her hair lay against the pillow, framing her face. Her eyelashes feathered against her cheek. Her eyes were unmoving beneath their lids. Her creamy skin looked healthy and vibrant, just a little pink on her cheeks. He was right; she was serenity itself.

It was strange. Harry knew it was pitch black. However, he could truly see Hermione. He lay motionless watching her sleep, not knowing how long he'd been staring. When he heard the clock strike six he finally looked away.

Sitting up, he slid out from under the thin sheet that was his only covering. He was surprised to find that he still wore only a pair of white shorts. They felt like they were made of the same soft material as the sheet. Lightheadedness assailed him when he moved to stand. Closing his eyes, he focused on taking deep, steady breaths. When the world stopped spinning, he felt it safe to open his eyes again.

The first light of dawn was brightening the eastern sky and easing the darkness in the room. Harry's feet brought him to Hermione's bedside without having to be told. It was literally a step away, close enough to touch. The early morning sunshine did wonders for her skin. He sat on the edge of her bed. Lightly, so as not to wake her, he placed a hand over one of hers. She sighed and smiled, truly smiled, turning her face toward him.

Warm tenderness spread through his chest, banishing the lingering shadow of his former despair. Once again his heart ached, but it was an aching sweetness now. When she started to frown, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, allowing the back of his fingers to brush her cheek as he pulled back again. She turned toward the touch, so he stayed and allowed himself to continue.

"I'm dreaming again, aren't I?"

She spoke quietly, without opening her eyes. He didn't respond, but his fingers stilled, hovering just over her cheek.

"You see, I can't be awake," she said, barely whispering. The sadness in her voice was unmistakable. "Because I feel you and you aren't touching me. I know the exact expression in your eyes, though I haven't opened mine yet. I even know what you're feeling here," she said, unerringly reaching a hand up to place over his heart, "though you haven't told me... How can I know these things, feel these things, if they aren't something my heart has conjured up?"

A few tears slid from the corners of eyes that had yet to open. Then she looked at him and it only seemed to increase her sorrow. Her hand moved from over his heart up to brush his cheek as he had hers.

"Only in my dreams would you look at me like this," she whispered, devastated.

The beat of Harry's heart was painful in his chest. He knew too well what she was feeling. He saw the mirror of his own personal anguish in her eyes and he wanted to banish it from her forever. She made him feel so much. It was so strong, too strong. He wasn't used to it, would never get used to it. He had to close his eyes to gain control before he could speak. But as soon as he looked at her again he was lost.

"I don't know how to tell you," he said. His voice was raw with all that was swarming inside him and tinged with just a bit of desperation. He covered her hand with his and held it against his cheek. "I don't know how to show you."

She sat up, the movement bringing her very close. She made no move to change that, so he didn't either. Her fingers moved to trace his lips. Harry dropped his hand and became very still.

"I like touching you."

She was whispering again. Harry wasn't breathing right.

"It feels so nice. Even better than before. You know, it actually feels best when you touch me. I wonder why that is."

Her eyes flicked back up to his. He had no idea what she could see there, but there was plenty to choose from.

"In my last dream I kissed you."

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. His heart actually skipped a beat.

"Well," she said with a half smile, "I started it, but boy did you finish it."

She stopped touching his lips and let her fingers trail down his chest, her eyes following the movement.

"Why don't you kiss me this time?"

She was so close now. His eyes darted to her lips then back to her eyes. He wanted. Badly. It was almost too much to resist, but there were a few things that still bothered him. His conscience for one.

"I can't kiss you yet."

Her eyes flew back to his and something flashed in their depths before she could hide it. Confusion? Hurt? She didn't speak but her expression was telling. _Why_, it seemed to ask.

"You think you're sleeping, that this is a dream," he said, taking a hand and twining her fingers with his. "You think this is a safe place inside your head, where there are no consequences for our actions."

Her eyes wavered and he lifted her hand, pressing it over his heart.

"The truth is: you didn't dream any of it. I really am in love with you. This heart beats only for you. That really is the reason I was hiding. It was killing me to be anywhere near you, knowing that I couldn't have you."

Now that he'd started he was compelled to tell her everything. It was painful, but strangely soothing– like draining poison from a wound. He closed his eyes, remembering, reliving all the moments as he prepared himself to confess all.

"I missed you so much, sometimes I couldn't even breathe. My heart ached all the time, every moment. And you were always in my thoughts. Whenever you saw me outside of classes– that was because I just couldn't stand to be so far away from you anymore. Sometimes I would hide under the invisibility cloak and sneak into the common room, just to be near you.

"All my senses seemed to be attuned to you. If you walked into the room, the air changed. I could smell your scent, feel that you were there. It became so strong that I could tell if you were in a room just by walking past it. My whole body would react. And it did feel good when you touched me, but it also hurt– in more ways than one."

He opened his eyes to look at her face. He still had one hand held to his heart. Her other was covering her mouth. He didn't stop, but stared into her eyes, trying to make her understand why he'd run.

"When you would touch me, it was like fire sinking through my skin and curling into me. But more than that, it was like getting little bits of you injected into my _soul_. But not enough. Never enough. There was only enough to tear open wounds and keep me bleeding. Every time, it was like if I'd gotten to kiss you, then had to watch you walk away from me again. It tore me open. I would have to be alone for hours afterward, shaking, and sore, and aching. And the longing never faded. Never! You were all I wanted, always.

"Then I woke up with you in my arms and maybe I could have fought just a little bit longer, but you were so sweet and soft and vulnerable. I just wasn't strong enough to fight you. It was one thing to fight myself, my heart, what I wanted. But how could I fight you? And it was like you knew just where to hit me. Merlin, the sounds you made–"

He cut himself off, a shudder going down his spine as he remembered kissing her– the feel of her against him, in his arms, the taste of her lips on his, and her _purring_. That's what he would forever think of it as. He'd briefly closed his eyes again, but he opened them now to see how much damage he'd done.

"So you see, you're not dreaming."

He didn't ask if she still wanted him to kiss her, though at that moment it was his heart's greatest desire. Instead, he waited and while he waited, he cupped her cheeks with the palms of his hands.

* * *

"Harry–" she started, but let her voice die. She couldn't tell him. It would only hurt him to know how very much she'd suffered, too. So she made a snap decision to climb into his lap. A decision that she was immensely glad she'd made as soon as his arms came around her. She felt warmer, from the inside out. He kissed the top of her head and then rested his chin there. Her heart nearly burst.

"Is this all you wanted?"

She could hear the smile in his voice.

"I missed you, too," she said, snuggling as close to him as she could get, clinging really. He rubbed a hand up and down her back. It was very soothing. Things fell silent between them for a time after that. It was a comfortable silence, one that neither of them felt the need to break.

In the quiet Hermione's mind was jumping from thought to thought, memory to memory faster than even she could keep up with. There were so many things she wanted to talk with him about and she had no idea where to start. Finally, she just blurted out the first thing that ran across her mind.

"You're fire feels amazing."

He stilled for a second– no doubt surprised by the randomness of her statement– before he burst out laughing. She pulled away to frown up at him, but when she saw the smile on his face, completely free of strain and so natural, she couldn't help smiling, too.

"It wasn't that funny."

He shook his head, still chuckling. He bent and kissed her cheek. His lips came so close to her mouth that her heart stopped beating for a second.

"I'm sorry. It was just a little too bizarre," he said. Hermione had to struggle to listen as her heart restarted at a newer and much faster pace than before. "And I already knew you liked my fire."

That got her attention.

"How," she asked, this time managing to keep her confused frown in place.

"Well, I told you I've become very attuned to you," he started hesitantly. She nodded her encouragement. "What I didn't tell you was that lately it's gotten more complicated than just knowing where you are."

When he didn't continue she raised a brow. "How much more complicated?"

"Well, I've been able to tell what you're feeling when I get close to you. Like in Potions. I don't even know how I figure it out, but I just sort of know. When we were in the Hospital Wing," here he paused to swallow audibly. "When I... well, caught fire, I could feel everything differently. It was like I _was_ the fire, or the fire was me. I don't know, it was a part of me, I guess. You were in the fire, too, so I could feel you. When you touched me, the fire responded how I would have. It felt like I was caressing you, but with the flames. I don't know. It was strange. Anyway, I could tell you liked it."

By the time he'd finished she was frowning, puzzled. He sat there, blushing. She could tell he felt so awkward, and really it was just too cute. She rested her head against his chest and tried to hide her smile. Seeking to make him feel better, she decided to bolster his self-esteem.

"Liked it' would be a bit of an understatement. It was like... like taking a bath in you."

They both laughed at that.

"Okay, that sounded ridiculous, but really, that's what it felt like. Imagine if it had been reversed, Harry," she said, looking up into his eyes again. "You've been missing me for months– been in love with me without even realizing that's what it was. Then, one crazy day goes by and you wake up in the same bed as me. You kiss me and I go crazy on you, kissing you in ways you never even knew a person could kiss. Then, out of nowhere, I explode into this huge ball of flame. But not just any kind of flame! The fire is me and suddenly I'm all around you– on your skin, in your hair. You reach for me and the fire laps around your fingers like... liquid desire. Of course I liked it. Who wouldn't have..."

She trailed off, feeling a little overheated. Between the memory and the look in Harry's eyes her skin had grown hot again and her blood too. She was intensely aware of his hands, one on her leg, the other on her back. He had been rubbing comforting circles up and down her spine, but as his eyes grew darker, the movement of his hand changed too. She got the feeling that he wasn't even doing it intentionally, but it felt so good. She closed her eyes and arched her back into his hand as he pressed on just the right spot. Her hands moved of their own accord, one over his, the other to his chest. The quickening beat of his heart under her palm had her smiling, while her other hand clasped his fingers and held him there. The hand on her back had grown surprisingly warm as it moved along her spine, which seemed to be melting as he passed over. Without thinking about it, she hummed in pleasure. His sharply indrawn breath had her eyes flying to his. She may have gasped.

He looked like he wanted to eat her for breakfast. Right then, she didn't think she had a problem with that. His eyes, usually so bright, were the darkest she'd ever seen them. She had never noticed this about him. He had completely frozen, like he was trying to regain control. The thought bothered her. She realized she liked it when he lost control. She liked it a lot. Still holding his hand, she moved her leg to the other side of his. This simple movement had her literally straddling his lap. She felt bold and empowered, but after that, she didn't have enough courage to do anything else. His eyes bore into hers and her heartbeat grew frantic as he slowly lowered his head to hers.

"You like testing me?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but rough, like velvet fire.

She didn't answer. He didn't really want her to. She moved just a little bit closer, encouraging him to kiss her, but he just smiled, a devious light in his eye, and shook his head. Moving her right hand up to his chest with the first, he moved both his hands to her back and began to massage her muscles. At first it just felt nice, but as he continued, she could feel the shifting of the pleasure. It rose with the heat of his hands. At one point she buried her face in his neck. She didn't understand what he was doing, but it felt too good. It didn't take long before she felt him touch her bare skin. He had moved under her shirt. She couldn't bring herself to care. Skin on skin contact had her breath hitching. When her legs tightened involuntarily around him, she didn't even have time to revel in the effect on him, because just then the flames engulfed his hands and she could feel everything.

There was one moment of pure unadulterated bliss.

Then the cold water was thrown on them...

Literally.


	9. Bound by Fire

Chapter 8

Bound by Fire

Harry became aware of several things at once. First, he was suddenly, inexplicably wet. Second, there was a distinct hissing as the water rapidly converted to steam all around them, which served as a backdrop to two other sounds: Hermione's coughing and sputtering attempts to remove the water from her lungs, and muffled voices coming from somewhere to the right. Harry held Hermione protectively against his chest as his eyes flew to the foot of the bed where a livid Madame Pomfrey was brandishing an empty bucket and glaring daggers at them, while Dumbledore spoke softly into her ear.

Instant, raging humiliation.

Followed by a rapid desire to expire on the spot.

He heard Hermione make a soft whimpering sound in her throat. In the split second it took to train his eyes on her face, he watched her complexion fade to white and then jump to carmine. All of the considerable amount of hair that normally surrounded her face was plastered to her skin. Her eyes had grown huge, trying desperately, no doubt, to see something, anything, that was not what was directly in front of her. Harry read two thoughts in her expression: hide and flee. She'd been comfortably tucked against him, but as he'd watched she seemed to oscillate between those two instincts. One moment she half-pulled away, the next she buried her face between his shoulder and neck and froze completely. Just as Harry was about to ask for a moment, he realized Dumbledore was already gesturing Madame Pomfrey out of the room. With a quiet "I'll be back in five minutes" he closed the door and they were gone.

Before Harry could say a word, Hermione let out a sob and scrambled out of his lap, hiding herself under her blankets and pillows. Watching her, he felt an ache deep in his chest. He was also bloody furious. _What the hell was wrong with them? Who throws fucking water on people? _Moving back to his bed, he saw a robe lying at the foot of it. Hermione's had one too. He put his on and then moved around to where she'd hidden, garment in hand. Kneeling beside the bed, Harry started to rub her back in small soothing circles, but that only served to remind him of their activities mere minutes before. He stopped abruptly. At least the lack of shaking led him to believe she wasn't crying, a fact for which he was eternally grateful.

"Hermione?" he called softly. He felt her give a heavy sigh and saw one eye peek out from under the pillow. He held up the dressing gown so she could see it. In a rush of movement, she sat up, pushed her soaking hair out of her face, and grabbed the robe.

"I cannot _believe_ they threw water on us. I mean- I just- I can't believe it. I'm speechless," she ranted as she stood, pulled it on, and fastened the tie. "How unbelievably rude."

"Yeah," Harry replied, distracted, as he looked around the room. They weren't in the Hospital Wing, though these beds looked like they belonged there. It was just a spacious room with the two beds in it and a few doors leading off. "Where are we?"

Hermione looked around, her angry, jerky movements slowly giving way to stillness. She attempted to push her hair back out of her face again, shaking her head.

"I don't know."

Harry walked over to the only window. He could faintly see the Quidditch pitch in the distance. It was mostly forest over here.

"I think we're somewhere near the Hospital Wing. I can see the Quidditch pitch from here". He turned to look at her, only to find she'd joined him by the window. Their eyes met. And held.

"You okay?" he asked her quietly. A lot had happened.

"Yeah." She sounded breathless.

He pushed an unruly lock of frizzing hair behind her ear, wishing he could know what she was thinking. Her eyes closed and she leaned her cheek against his fingers. His heart squeezed in a kind of painful hope only the hopeless know. When she looked at him again he must have seemed sad, because her worry lines appeared between her eyebrows and she moved to wrap her arms around his neck. He pulled her close and held her there, just breathing in the sweet scent of her hair and trying hard not to think about anything but that moment.

* * *

Hermione mentally cursed when she heard the door open, causing Harry to pull away from her.

"Good Morning, Harry, Hermione," Dumbledore greeted them. "I imagine you have some questions, but first I'd like to apologize for our initial greeting this morning. Please, take a seat and I will explain what I can."

Hermione took one look at her soaking wet bed and moved to sit on Harry's. When she moved the blanket back to make room she found a shirt. It explained why he was shirtless. Without looking, she held it out to him and took a seat by the pillows. Harry sat next to her, nearer the foot of the bed. Pulling a pillow into her lap, she readied herself for some much needed explanation.

"Poppy has gone to fetch you some breakfast," Dumbledore began as he dried Hermione's bed with a flick of his wand and sat opposite them. "The first thing I need to know is the last thing you remember. It will let me know where to begin."

"I remember talking to you in the Hospital Wing," she answered promptly. "I remember you asking us questions so we could figure out why I was burning Harry without meaning to."

Dumbledore nodded. "That's the most recent time you remember being conscious?" he asked.

Instantly, images of fire and light appeared before her eyes. Ghost sensations danced across her skin, her lips. Hermione could feel her cheeks grow warm.

"Well, no. I woke up after that," she said with a furtive glance at Harry.

"Yeah, we were awake for a little bit at some point after that. I think it was morning. You were there," Harry replied.

Hermione's eyes shot to Harry's face. _Dumbledore had been there?!_

"I wasn't certain you would remember that. Alright. Perhaps if I explain what I, personally have witnessed thus far, things will become more clear to you. After you and I had our brief discussion, Harry, I returned to speak with Madame Pomfrey. You'd both been unconscious for more than thirty-six hours at that point."

Hermione felt her stomach go hollow. _What?_

"We were monitoring you both very closely. You, Harry, were fluctuating between various temperatures humans aren't meant to be able to survive. Hermione," he said, turning to her, "at first, we couldn't understand why you weren't resurfacing to consciousness. You weren't feverish, as Harry was. We used a number of spells, incantations, etc in our search to diagnose the two of you and every one came up with, if not extraordinary results, certainly abnormal ones. Harry, you were emitting heat at a level your body doesn't have nearly enough chemical energy to be generating. Hermione, your body was absorbing heat of shockingly high levels with no apparent side effects. When you two were physically near to each other for a prolonged period of time, without actual contact, your conditions drastically worsened. However, once contact had been established, progress was seen immediately.

"That came about as a bit of a fluke. You see, kept moving toward one another. The first time I saw you stable since Monday was when the two of you ended up on the floor together. At first I was concerned, but when we checked on you, you had both balanced out. Where before you had been extremely fitful, Harry, and deathly still, Hermione, now you both just seemed to be sleeping. It was strange to say the least.

"I endeavored to return you to your beds but you instantly showed signs of deteriorating, so I made the perhaps flawed decision to keep you together. Everything we've seen since then does lend credence to the idea that you just needed one another to heal.

"So what does all this mean? In short, based upon what we've witnessed thus far, the two of you have somehow been bound together. For whatever reason, your well being, each of you, seems to be dependent upon the other's."

Hermione closed her eyes, her mind moving at lightning speed, jumping from memory to memory faster than thought. Bound to Harry?_Harry's disappearance lately. Harry's face whenever Ron touched her. That one extra second at the end of each hug. The feel of touching him. Sensing each other's presence. What happened in the fire... _She opened her eyes, calmer than she thought maybe she ought to be. She looked at Harry. He was scowling down at his fidgeting fingers. She rested her hand on his leg and he took it without looking up, unconsciously it seemed. She wasn't certain if that should make her happy or concerned. When her gaze returned to Dumbledore, she noticed his resting on their joined hands.

"Leaving behind what we have seen with our own eyes, we can only move through the foggy realm of conjecture. To my knowledge, there is no magic that works in this exact way. There are minor linking spells. There are practices one can use to interpose details of one existence onto another, but again nothing on this scale or in this manner. And none of them, so far as I know, involve fire."

_Fire. Harry bursting into flames. The feel of them around her, against her. The almost musical sound they made as the roar filled her ears. His hands this very morning..._

"Do either of you remember the fire in the Hospital Wing?"

He asked so calmly. Hermione didn't know how to acknowledge what may have been the most spiritual, emotional, and- let's face it- erotic experience of her entire life. How were they supposed to explain that to someone? To anyone? It was so much more that just what it was. Bound, he'd said. Yeah, Hermione figured, wherever this may have begun, it was certainly finished in that fire.

She looked at Harry. He'd been looking at the ground, but turned as she did. Like he knew before she had that she was going to. At first she couldn't read his expression, but then his eyes brightened for just a shadow of a moment and her words from earlier came back to her, clear as day: _Your fire feels amazing..._

"Yeah, we remember the fire," Harry murmured, turning back to Dumbledore.

"Well. That fire is why you were drenched this morning. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid it was necessary. You see, when you two become... involved, shall we say, you literally can't hear us attempting to make contact with you. Or you're both very convincing actors. One or the other."

Hermione covered her eyes with her free hand. In the back of her mind the panic and shame were there, flitting about, waiting to claim her again, but for the moment confusion was taking precedence.

"What?"

It was Harry who spoke. He sounded strained. She didn't want to know what her voice sounded like.

"Yes. You both burst into flames in the middle of the wing, first thing in the morning and no matter what we did we couldn't get close to you, you couldn't hear us, and the fire was seemingly unquenchable. It burned everything. That is until you were unconscious again. Then it receded and eventually died out. All of this happened in a matter of minutes. However, you two, as you can see, were completely unscathed. So you can understand why, when we walked in this morning and you again showed signs of being oblivious to that which you shouldn't have been, dear Madame Pomfrey just reacted. I think she thought if she could douse the fire before it started, then we stood a better chance. As it worked, I'm hesitant to disagree with her."

Hermione buried her face in the pillow. How long had it taken to get their attention? What had they seen, heard? She felt nauseated. Why couldn't they hear them? Thinking back, she remembered music in the fire. But there hadn't been fire for very long today, so that didn't account for it. All she could remember was Harry. How very _present_ he was, being completely caught up in him, absorbed. It shouldn't effect her hearing though...

Harry awkwardly cleared his throat. For a moment it seemed like he was going to say something, but then he fell silent. Hermione lifted her face from the pillow and looked at him. He was about as red as she assumed she must be.

"So, you're telling me, we... blew up... the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked, finding her voice.

"Yes. What is happening to the two of you seems to be causing your magic to simply flow into the world, unchecked. Like a child in the height of emotion, it is just released without the structure our kind has spend thousands of years learning to institute. It feels very powerful, with a wildness to it that is more reminiscent of magical creature than human. It has all the ferocity and unpredictability of a force of nature. I think that's why it took me so long to see that something was happening to you. It did not occur to me that the earlier signs I'd been seeing could be related to a human problem."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked. "How do we stop our magic from 'flowing into the world'?"

"Honestly, I was hoping the two of you would have some input. Anything you might know about where this is coming from, or why it is happening could prove extremely helpful."

Hermione's drew a blank. She hadn't been anywhere near magical creatures in ages. No one had cast any spells on her that she was aware of. Not since...

"What about the last battle?"

Hermione felt cold, despite holding Harry's hand. Harry responded first.

"Yeah, we had countless spells flung at us. Not to mention whatever the hell happened when we killed him..."

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, "that had occurred to me. If that is all that we have to go on, I'm afraid it will mostly be guess work from here. Knowing so little, and with this situation is so unprecedented, there isn't a set answer to turn to. We're going to have to figure this out as we go. As the most disruptive aspects surface when you two are together, my initial reaction would have been to separate you."

Hermione's stomach dropped.

"No. No, please, you can't."

Dumbledore looked at her, really looked at her, his blue eyes searching her face. She didn't, in this moment, feel ashamed. She knew that they could not possibly go back to no contact after what had happened.

"It would have been so, were it not for the mutual dependence you also displayed. So now we have a bit of a dilemma. How do we keep you together without destroying the school and potentially hurting people? That's where this room comes into the equation," he said, gesturing. "This room has been specifically designed to be a safe place for your interaction. Everything in here is, to varying degrees, fireproof and heat resistant. You can have physical contact here without risk of hurting others or the castle."

Hermione just stared at him. He was talking like... like it was a medication you took twice a day. Like touch was something so simple. She was only allowed to touch him here? In this room? No... She looked to Harry, shaking her head in denial. No. How were they only supposed to touch in a special room that was supervised? She thought about his fire, about how much she wanted to feel it again. No...

* * *

Harry could feel Hermione's eyes on his face. He was rubbing his temples, trying to grasp the life Dumbledore was describing.

"There's so much we don't yet know about the exact details of your bond. Why did your touch burn Harry, Hermione? Especially when you, Harry, have been the one to show a propensity for heat and burning? Why was it only sometimes? I witnessed you heal him with the very same hand that had marked him to begin with, less than an hour after doing so. By endeavoring to understand your bond, it is my hope that you will learn to control it. Otherwise... Otherwise, I fear it will consume you."

So no pressure then.

Harry lay back on the bed releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He'd had literally minutes. Minutes with her. Stolen moments. And he hadn't kissed her this morning, when she'd clearly wanted him to. Acute regret washed through him.

"It's not a permanent situation, of course. It is my hope that by working with you, I can help you figure out either a cure or a healthy way to work around it," Dumbledore continued.

Harry froze. A cure? What on earth did that mean? Not wanting her? Or just not being able to sense her, etc? He supposed that was really what they were trying to figure out. How much of what they were going through was magic? Did he only love her, at least in this way, because they'd been bound? He sat up, looking at Dumbledore, and not at all feeling well.

How many times had he cursed fate that he'd fallen for her, wished and hoped that it would just go away? And now that that prospect sat before him, all he felt was horror.

"Shouldn't we try to figure out more about it before we try to undo it? Sometimes things happen for a reason."

_Hermione._ For an instant, he was filled with that same joy he'd experienced holding her. That same longing hope. Then he thought, _Is she on the same page as me because she _is_ or because she's _magically linked_ to my page... _and with that all hope faded.

He stood up, needing to not be still, and dropped her hand to do so. At once, his vision blurred for a moment as his world tilted sideways. He caught himself using the bedpost as that same familiar burn raced, screaming along his nerves. This would have made more of an impression on him, if he hadn't heard the sound that came out of Hermione.

He turned back to her right away. Her face was flushed and she was doubled over. He read pain in her eyes, in how she bit her lip, the hunch of her shoulders. He reached for her, to soothe or comfort, only to realize, a millimeter from her skin, that touching her was what had caused it. He jerked away and looked down at her, appalled, before backing away until his back hit the opposite wall. He turned and punched it. Just as his fist hit the stone, flames flickered and vanished around it, there only for a second. He almost wasn't even certain he'd actually seen it. There was only so much more Harry could take before he reached his breaking point.

Dumbledore had moved to Hermione. He was examining her hands, which Harry noticed were shaking now. The left one looked red and irritated from here. That was the one he'd been holding.

"I thought we were done with this part," he said. His voice sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, his tone quietly urgent. "What changed between your earlier physical contact, and this time?"

"I- I don't know," she gasped, wincing. Harry's heart turned over.

"Harry? Anything different on your end?" Dumbledore called.

He wracked his brain. What was different? He looked at his hands, at the angry red color. He thought back to his theory from when she'd found him after slapping him, that it had been worse because of how she'd felt when she did it. He'd felt hopeless, defeated, done. And then he'd let go. He looked at her face. He wasn't sure if it was worse for her because it actually was or because she wasn't used to it. Dumbledore was mumbling over her hand, but seemingly to no avail. He touched his cheek. She'd healed him simply by wanting to. Maybe...

He crossed over to her. Dumbledore, possibly sensing his intentions, stood and stepped back. Harry knelt in front of her. Her breaths were shallow and she was cradling her hand. He felt so guilty. He kept hurting her. Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his conscience. Her eyes never left his. Even through the pain, he could see her trust. It didn't reassure him. It terrified him.

"I think," he said, not breaking eye contact, "if I feel the right way when I touch you, it will help." He let out a shaky breath, not moving. He looked down at her hand, which she held out for him. He still didn't move. "The problem is... I don't think I can control what I'm feeling long enough to not hurt you more."

His eyes searched hers, begging her to understand.

* * *

Hermione didn't even blink, willing Harry to know that it was okay. That he could do it. She didn't trust herself to speak. She wasn't at all certain that her own feelings wouldn't interfere, if it even was their emotions doing it. _He's been feeling this for literally months, _she thought. _How did he stand it?_ He looked so scared. She just hoped whatever he saw in her eyes was enough to convince him. Her hand was throbbing, sending pulsing, stabbing pains throughout her body. Finally, he just shook his head, expelled the air from his lungs and reached for her hand.

The second he touched her, the pain magnified, changed. It wasn't a stabbing anymore, but more like she'd dipped her hand in boiling water. However, inside the pain, through it, she could sense something crucial, vital to her, hovering, lost somewhere in there. She did everything she could not to react. She released the breath she'd been holding and attempted to blank her face of all emotion. He couldn't know he was hurting her more or he'd give up.

It took a fraction of a second to feel the difference. She could sense the sickening fear in him fade, confusion moving forward as he tried to read her reaction. The pain lessened considerably and she could feel the vitality grow stronger. On pure impulse, a genuine smile spread across her face. He could do this. Before the message from her brain reached her eyes, telling them to open, Harry's reaction to her smile became apparent.

Joy. A penetrating relief that was only partially physical radiated throughout her body followed by a sweetness so profound she felt lost to it. _His emotions. Physically manifested in me. _It was astonishingly intimate.

"I can feel you," she said in a poor attempt to convey what was happening. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to Dumbledore.

"It's very difficult to describe. It honestly feels like I am physically experiencing whatever he's feeling emotionally."

Dumbledore nodded, silently as Madame Pomfrey emerged on the other side of the room. Hermione turned back to Harry. He was still staring at her. She turned her palm up to grasp him, since he had yet to move away.

"You were brilliant," she said, just to him. "That was really brave."

Harry just snorted and moved to sit next to her on the bed again. This time, he didn't try to let go. They ended up facing each other, cross-legged as Madame Pomfrey set a tray on each of their laps. Hermione was about to point out that this was somewhat awkward when Harry covered her hand with both of his and then removed the inconvenient one. He was volunteering to eat left handed. She gave him a squeeze before digging in. Somehow, in all the fuss, she'd managed not to noticed how hungry she was.


End file.
